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My Polar Star I have made You the
polar star of my Wherever I go, You
are always there to If I lose sight of
You even for a moment, I Whenever my heart is
about to go astray, just The Kiss Lips' language to lips' ears. Hard Times Music is silenced,
the dark descending slowly Has stripped
unending skies of all companions. Weariness grips your
limbs and within the locked horizons Dumbly ring the
bells of hugely gathering fears. Still, O bird, O
sightless bird, Not yet, not yet the
time to furl your wings. It's not melodious
woodlands but the leaps and falls Of an ocean's drowsy
booming, Not a grove bedecked
with flowers but a tumult flecked with foam. Where is the shore
that stored your buds and leaves? Where the nest and
the branch's hold? Still, O bird, my
sightless bird, Not yet, not yet the
time to furl your wings. Stretching in front
of you the night's immensity Hides the western
hill where sleeps the distant sun; Still with bated
breath the world is counting time and swimming Across the shoreless
dark a crescent moon Has thinly just
appeared upon the dim horizon. --But O my bird, O
sightless bird, Not yet, not yet the
time to furl your wings. From upper skies the
stars with pointing fingers Intently watch your
course and death's impatience Lashes at you from
the deeps in swirling waves ; And sad entreaties
line the farthest shore With hands
outstretched and crooning ' Come, O come ! ' Still, O bird, O
sightless bird, Not yet, not yet the
time to furl your wings. All that is past:
your fears and loves and hopes ; All that is lost:
your words and lamentation ; No longer yours a
home nor a bed composed of flowers. For wings are all
you have, and the sky's broadening countryard, And the dawn steeped
in darkness, lacking all direction. Dear bird, my
sightless bird, Not yet, not yet the
time to furl your wings! (translation Buddhadeva Bose) Lord of My Life Thou who art the
innermost Spirit of my being, art thou pleased, Lord
of my Life? For I give to thee
my cup filled with all the pain and delight
that the crushed grapes of my heart
had surrendered, I wove with rhythm
of colors and song cover for thy bed, And with the molten
gold of my desires I fashioned
playthings for thy passing hours. I know not why thou
chosest me for thy partner, Lord of my life. Didst thou store my
days and nights, my deeds and dreams
for the alchemy of thy art, and string in the
chain of thy music my songs of autumn and spring, and gather the flowers
from my mature moments for thy crown? I see thine eyes
gazing at the dark of my heart, Lord of my life, I wonder if my
failure and wrongs are forgiven. For many were my
days without service and nights of
forgetfulness; futile were the flowers that faded in the
shade not offered to thee. Often the tied
strings of my lute slackened at the strains of
thy tunes. And often at the
ruin of wasted hours my desolate evenings
were filled with tears. But have my days
come to their end at last, Lord of my life,
while my arms round thee grow limp, my kisses
losing their truth? Then break up the
meeting of this languid day!* Renew the old in me
in fresh forms of delight; and let the wedding
come once again in a new ceremony of
life. Waiting The song I came to
sing remains unsung to
this day. I have spent my days
in stringing and in unstringing
my instrument. The time has not
come true, the words have not
been rightly set; only there is the
agony of wishing in my
heart..... I have not seen his
face, nor have I listened
to his voice; only I have heard
his gentle footsteps from the road before
my house..... But the lamp has not
been lit and I cannot ask him
into my house; I live in the hope
of meeting with him; but this meeting is
not yet. The Sun of the First Day The sun of the first
day Put the question To the new
manifestation of life- Who are you? There was no answer. Years passed by. The last sun of the
last day Uttered the question
on the shore of the
western sea In the hush of
evening- Who are you? No answer came
again. My Song This song of mine
will wind its music around you, my child, like the
fond arms of love. The song of mine
will touch your forehead like a kiss of
blessing. When you are alone
it will sit by your side and whisper in your ear,
when you are in the crowd it will fence you
about with aloofness. My song will be like
a pair of wings to your dreams, it will transport your
heart to the verge of the unknown. It will be like the
faithful star overhead when dark night is
over your road. My song will sit in
the pupils of your eyes, and will carry your
sight into the heart of things. And when my voice is
silenced in death, my song will speak
in your living heart. Fireflies I touch God in my
song as the hill touches the far-away sea with its waterfall. The butterfly counts
not months but moments, and has time enough. Let my love, like sunlight,
surround you and yet give you illumined freedom. Love remains a
secret even when spoken, for only a lover truly knows that he is
loved. Emancipation from
the bondage of the soil is no freedom for the tree. In love I pay my endless
debt to thee for what thou art. On the Nature of Love The night is black and the forest has no end; a million people thread it in a million ways. We have trysts to keep in the darkness, but where or with whom - of that we are unaware. But we have this faith - that a lifetime's bliss will appear any minute, with a smile upon its lips. Scents, touches, sounds, snatches of songs brush us, pass us, give us delightful shocks. Then peradventure there's a flash of lightning: whomever I see that instant I fall in love with. I call that person and cry: `This life is blest! for your sake such miles have I traversed!' All those others who came close and moved off in the darkness - I don't know if they exist or not. One Day in Spring... One day in spring, a
woman came In my lonely woods, In the lovely form
of the Beloved. Came, to give to my
songs, melodies, To give to my
dreams, sweetness. Suddenly a wild wave Broke over my
heart's shores And drowned all
language. To my lips no name
came, She stood beneath
the tree, turned, Glanced at my face,
made sad with pain, And with quick
steps, came and sat by me. Taking my hands in
hers, she said: 'You do not know me,
nor I you-- I wonder how this
could be?' I said: 'We two shall build,
a bridge for ever Between two beings,
each to the other unknown, This eager wonder is
at the heart of things.' The cry that is in
my heart is also the cry of her heart; The thread with
which she binds me binds her too. Her have I sought
everywhere, Her have I
worshipped within me, Hidden in that
worship she has sought me too. Crossing the wide
oceans, she came to steal my heart. She forgot to return,
having lost her own. Her own charms play
traitor to her, She spreads her net,
knowing not Whether she will
catch or be caught. I I wonder if I know
him In whose speech is
my voice, In whose movement is
my being, Whose skill is in my
lines, Whose melody is in
my songs In joy and sorrow. I thought he was
chained within me, Contained by tears
and laughter, Work and play. I thought he was my
very self Coming to an end
with my death. Why then in a flood
of joy do I feel him In the sight and
touch of my beloved? This 'I' beyond self
I found On the shores of the
shining sea. Therefore I know This'I' is not
imprisoned within my bounds. Losing myself, I
find him Beyond the borders
of time and space. Through the Ages I come to know his Shining
Self In the Iffe of the
seeker, In the voice of the
poet. From the dark clouds
pour the rains. I sit and think: Bearing so many
forms, so many names, I come down,
crossing the threshold Of countless births
and deaths. The Supreme
undivided, complete in himself, Embracing past and
present, Dwells in Man. Within Him I shall
find myself - The 'I' that reaches
everywhere. |