1.
Thou hast made me endless, such is thy pleasure. This
frail vessel thou emptiest again and again, and fillest it ever with
fresh life.
This little flute of a reed thou hast carried over hills and dales, and hast breathed through it melodies eternally new.
At the immortal touch of thy hands my little heart loses its limits in joy and gives birth to utterance ineffable.
Thy
infinite gifts come to me only on these very small hands of mine. Ages
pass, and still thou pourest, and still there is room to fill.
2.
When
thou commandest me to sing it seems that my heart would break with
pride; and I look to thy face, and tears come to my eyes.
All
that is harsh and dissonant in my life melts into one sweet harmony -
and my adoration spreads wings like a glad bird on its flight across the
sea.
I know thou takest pleasure in my singing. I know that only as a singer I come before thy presence.
I touch by the edge of the far-spreading wing of my song thy feet which I could never aspire to reach.
Drunk with the joy of singing I forget myself and call thee friend who art my lord.
3.
I know not how thou singest, my master! I ever listen in silent amazement.
The
light of thy music illumines the world. The life breath of thy music
runs from sky to sky. The holy stream of thy music breaks through all
stony obstacles and rushes on.
My heart longs to join in thy
song, but vainly struggles for a voice. I would speak, but speech breaks
not into song, and I cry out baffled. Ah, thou hast made my heart
captive in the endless meshes of thy music, my master!
4.
Life of my life, I shall ever try to keep my body pure, knowing that thy living touch is upon all my limbs.
I
shall ever try to keep all untruths out from my thoughts, knowing that
thou art that truth which has kindled the light of reason in my mind.
I
shall ever try to drive all evils away from my heart and keep my love
in flower, knowing that thou hast thy seat in the inmost shrine of my
heart.
And it shall be my endeavour to reveal thee in my actions, knowing it is thy power gives me strength to act.
5.
I ask for a moment's indulgence to sit by thy side. The works that I have in hand I will finish afterwards.
Away
from the sight of thy face my heart knows no rest nor respite, and my
work becomes an endless toil in a shoreless sea of toil.
Today
the summer has come at my window with its sighs and murmurs; and the
bees are plying their minstrelsy at the court of the flowering grove.
Now it is time to sit quite, face to face with thee, and to sing dedication of life in this silent and overflowing leisure.
6.
Pluck this little flower and take it, delay not! I fear lest it droop and drop into the dust.
I
may not find a place in thy garland, but honour it with a touch of pain
from thy hand and pluck it. I fear lest the day end before I am aware,
and the time of offering go by.
Though its colour be not deep and its smell be faint, use this flower in thy service and pluck it while there is time.
7.
My
song has put off her adornments. She has no pride of dress and
decoration. Ornaments would mar our union; they would come between thee
and me; their jingling would drown thy whispers.
My poet's
vanity dies in shame before thy sight. O master poet, I have sat down at
thy feet. Only let me make my life simple and straight, like a flute of
reed for thee to fill with music.
8.
The child who
is decked with prince's robes and who has jewelled chains round his neck
loses all pleasure in his play; his dress hampers him at every step.
In fear that it may be frayed, or stained with dust he keeps himself from the world, and is afraid even to move.
Mother,
it is no gain, thy bondage of finery, if it keeps one shut off from the
healthful dust of the earth, if it rob one of the right of entrance to
the great fair of common human life.
9.
O Fool, try to carry thyself upon thy own shoulders! O beggar, to come beg at thy own door!
Leave all thy burdens on his hands who can bear all, and never look behind in regret.
Thy
desire at once puts out the light from the lamp it touches with its
breath. It is unholy - take not thy gifts through its unclean hands.
Accept only what is offered by sacred love.
10.
Here is thy footstool and there rest thy feet where live the poorest, and lowliest, and lost.
When
I try to bow to thee, my obeisance cannot reach down to the depth where
thy feet rest among the poorest, and lowliest, and lost.
Pride can never approach to where thou walkest in the clothes of the humble among the poorest, and lowliest, and lost.
My
heart can never find its way to where thou keepest company with the
companionless among the poorest, the lowliest, and the lost.
11.
Leave
this chanting and singing and telling of beads! Whom dost thou worship
in this lonely dark corner of a temple with doors all shut? Open thine
eyes and see thy God is not before thee!
He is there where the
tiller is tilling the hard ground and where the pathmaker is breaking
stones. He is with them in sun and in shower, and his garment is covered
with dust. Put of thy holy mantle and even like him come down on the
dusty soil!
Deliverance? Where is this deliverance to be found?
Our master himself has joyfully taken upon him the bonds of creation; he
is bound with us all for ever.
Come out of thy meditations and
leave aside thy flowers and incense! What harm is there if thy clothes
become tattered and stained? Meet him and stand by him in toil and in
sweat of thy brow.
12.
The time that my journey takes is long and the way of it long.
I
came out on the chariot of the first gleam of light, and pursued my
voyage through the wildernesses of worlds leaving my track on many a
star and planet.
It is the most distant course that comes
nearest to thyself, and that training is the most intricate which leads
to the utter simplicity of a tune.
The traveller has to knock at
every alien door to come to his own, and one has to wander through all
the outer worlds to reach the innermost shrine at the end.
My eyes strayed far and wide before I shut them and said 'Here art thou!'
The
question and the cry 'Oh, where?' melt into tears of a thousand streams
and deluge the world with the flood of the assurance 'I am!'
13.
The song that 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.
The
blossom has not opened; only the wind is sighing by. 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.
The livelong day has
passed in spreading his seat on the floor; 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.
14.
My
desires are many and my cry is pitiful, but ever didst thou save me by
hard refusals; and this strong mercy has been wrought into my life
through and through.
Day by day thou art making me worthy of the
simple, great gifts that thou gavest to me unasked - this sky and the
light, this body and the life and the mind - saving me from perils of
overmuch desire.
There are times when I languidly linger and
times when I awaken and hurry in search of my goal; but cruelly thou
hidest thyself from before me.
Day by day thou art making me
worthy of thy full acceptance by refusing me ever and anon, saving me
from perils of weak, uncertain desire.
15.
I am here to sing thee songs. In this hall of thine I have a corner seat.
In thy world I have no work to do; my useless life can only break out in tunes without a purpose.
When
the hour strikes for thy silent worship at the dark temple of midnight,
command me, my master, to stand before thee to sing.
When in the morning air the golden harp is tuned, honour me, commanding my presence.
16.
I have had my invitation to this world's festival, and thus my life has been blessed. My eyes have seen and my ears have heard.
It was my part at this feast to play upon my instrument, and I have done all I could.
Now, I ask, has the time come at last when I may go in and see thy face and offer thee my silent salutation?
17.
I
am only waiting for love to give myself up at last into his hands. That
is why it is so late and why I have been guilty of such omissions.
They
come with their laws and their codes to bind me fast; but I evade them
ever, for I am only waiting for love to give myself up at last into his
hands.
People blame me and call me heedless; I doubt not they are right in their blame.
The
market day is over and work is all done for the busy. Those who came to
call me in vain have gone back in anger. I am only waiting for love to
give myself up at last into his hands.
18.
Clouds heap upon clouds and it darkens. Ah, love, why dost thou let me wait outside at the door all alone?
In the busy moments of the noontide work I am with the crowd, but on this dark lonely day it is only for thee that I hope.
If thou showest me not thy face, if thou leavest me wholly aside, I know not how I am to pass these long, rainy hours.
I keep gazing on the far-away gloom of the sky, and my heart wanders wailing with the restless wind.
19.
If
thou speakest not I will fill my heart with thy silence and endure it. I
will keep still and wait like the night with starry vigil and its head
bent low with patience.
The morning will surely come, the darkness will vanish, and thy voice pour down in golden streams breaking through the sky.
Then
thy words will take wing in songs from every one of my birds' nests,
and thy melodies will break forth in flowers in all my forest groves.
20.
On
the day when the lotus bloomed, alas, my mind was straying, and I knew
it not. My basket was empty and the flower remained unheeded.
Only
now and again a sadness fell upon me, and I started up from my dream
and felt a sweet trace of a strange fragrance in the south wind.
That
vague sweetness made my heart ache with longing and it seemed to me
that is was the eager breath of the summer seeking for its completion.
I
knew not then that it was so near, that it was mine, and that this
perfect sweetness had blossomed in the depth of my own heart.
21.
I must launch out my boat. The languid hours pass by on the shore - Alas for me!
The spring has done its flowering and taken leave. And now with the burden of faded futile flowers I wait and linger.
The waves have become clamorous, and upon the bank in the shady lane the yellow leaves flutter and fall.
What
emptiness do you gaze upon! Do you not feel a thrill passing through
the air with the notes of the far-away song floating from the other
shore?
22.
In the deep shadows of the rainy July, with secret steps, thou walkest, silent as night, eluding all watchers.
Today
the morning has closed its eyes, heedless of the insistent calls of the
loud east wind, and a thick veil has been drawn over the ever-wakeful
blue sky.
The woodlands have hushed their songs, and doors are
all shut at every house. Thou art the solitary wayfarer in this deserted
street. Oh my only friend, my best beloved, the gates are open in my
house - do not pass by like a dream.
23.
Art thou abroad on this stormy night on thy journey of love, my friend? The sky groans like one in despair.
I have no sleep tonight. Ever and again I open my door and look out on the darkness, my friend!
I can see nothing before me. I wonder where lies thy path!
By
what dim shore of the ink-black river, by what far edge of the frowning
forest, through what mazy depth of gloom art thou threading thy course
to come to me, my friend?
24.
If the day is done, if
birds sing no more, if the wind has flagged tired, then draw the veil
of darkness thick upon me, even as thou hast wrapt the earth with the
coverlet of sleep and tenderly closed the petals of the drooping lotus
at dusk.
From the traveller, whose sack of provisions is empty
before the voyage is ended, whose garment is torn and dustladen, whose
strength is exhausted, remove shame and poverty, and renew his life like
a flower under the cover of thy kindly night.
25.
In the night of weariness let me give myself up to sleep without struggle, resting my trust upon thee.
Let me not force my flagging spirit into a poor preparation for thy worship.
It is thou who drawest the veil of night upon the tired eyes of the day to renew its sight in a fresher gladness of awakening.
26.
He came and sat by my side but I woke not. What a cursed sleep it was, O miserable me!
He came when the night was still; he had his harp in his hands, and my dreams became resonant with its melodies.
Alas, why are my nights all thus lost? Ah, why do I ever miss his sight whose breath touches my sleep?
27.
Light, oh where is the light? Kindle it with the burning fire of desire!
There is the lamp but never a flicker of a flame - is such thy fate, my heart? Ah, death were better by far for thee!
Misery
knocks at thy door, and her message is that thy lord is wakeful, and he
calls thee to the love-tryst through the darkness of night.
The sky is overcast with clouds and the rain is ceaseless. I know not what this is that stirs in me - I know not its meaning.
A
moment's flash of lightning drags down a deeper gloom on my sight, and
my heart gropes for the path to where the music of the night calls me.
Light,
oh where is the light! Kindle it with the burning fire of desire! It
thunders and the wind rushes screaming through the void. The night is
black as a black stone. Let not the hours pass by in the dark. Kindle
the lamp of love with thy life.
28.
Obstinate are the trammels, but my heart aches when I try to break them.
Freedom is all I want, but to hope for it I feel ashamed.
I
am certain that priceless wealth is in thee, and that thou art my best
friend, but I have not the heart to sweep away the tinsel that fills my
room.
The shroud that covers me is a shroud of dust and death; I hate it, yet hug it in love.
My
debts are large, my failures great, my shame secret and heavy; yet when
I come to ask for my good, I quake in fear lest my prayer be granted.
29.
He
whom I enclose with my name is weeping in this dungeon. I am ever busy
building this wall all around; and as this wall goes up into the sky day
by day I lose sight of my true being in its dark shadow.
I take
pride in this great wall, and I plaster it with dust and sand lest a
least hole should be left in this name; and for all the care I take I
lose sight of my true being.
30.
I came out alone on my way to my tryst. But who is this that follows me in the silent dark?
I move aside to avoid his presence but I escape him not.
He makes the dust rise from the earth with his swagger; he adds his loud voice to every word that I utter.
He is my own little self, my lord, he knows no shame; but I am ashamed to come to thy door in his company.
31.
'Prisoner, tell me, who was it that bound you?'
'It
was my master,' said the prisoner. 'I thought I could outdo everybody
in the world in wealth and power, and I amassed in my own treasure-house
the money due to my king. When sleep overcame me I lay upon the bad
that was for my lord, and on waking up I found I was a prisoner in my
own treasure-house.'
'Prisoner, tell me, who was it that wrought this unbreakable chain?'
'It
was I,' said the prisoner, 'who forged this chain very carefully. I
thought my invincible power would hold the world captive leaving me in a
freedom undisturbed. Thus night and day I worked at the chain with huge
fires and cruel hard strokes. When at last the work was done and the
links were complete and unbreakable, I found that it held me in its
grip.'
32.
By all means they try to hold me secure
who love me in this world. But it is otherwise with thy love which is
greater than theirs, and thou keepest me free.
Lest I forget them they never venture to leave me alone. But day passes by after day and thou art not seen.
If I call not thee in my prayers, if I keep not thee in my heart, thy love for me still waits for my love.
33.
When it was day they came into my house and said, 'We shall only take the smallest room here.'
They
said, 'We shall help you in the worship of your God and humbly accept
only our own share in his grace'; and then they took their seat in a
corner and they sat quiet and meek.
But in the darkness of night
I find they break into my sacred shrine, strong and turbulent, and
snatch with unholy greed the offerings from God's altar.
34.
Let only that little be left of me whereby I may name thee my all.
Let
only that little be left of my will whereby I may feel thee on every
side, and come to thee in everything, and offer to thee my love every
moment.
Let only that little be left of me whereby I may never hide thee.
Let
only that little of my fetters be left whereby I am bound with thy
will, and thy purpose is carried out in my life - and that is the fetter
of thy love.
35.
Where the mind is without fear and
the head is held high; Where knowledge is free; Where the world has not
been broken up into fragments by narrow domestic walls; Where words
come out from the depth of truth; Where tireless striving stretches its
arms towards perfection; Where the clear stream of reason has not lost
its way into the dreary desert sand of dead habit; Where the mind is led
forward by thee into ever-widening thought and action- Into that heaven
of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.
36.
This
is my prayer to thee, my lord - strike, strike at the root of penury in
my heart. Give me the strength lightly to bear my joys and sorrows.
Give me the strength to make my love fruitful in service. Give me the
strength never to disown the poor or bend my knees before insolent
might. Give me the strength to raise my mind high above daily trifles.
And give me the strength to surrender my strength to thy will with love.
37.
I thought that my voyage had come to its end at
the last limit of my power, - that the path before me was closed, that
provisions were exhausted and the time come to take shelter in a silent
obscurity.
But I find that thy will knows no end in me. And when
old words die out on the tongue, new melodies break forth from the
heart; and where the old tracks are lost, new country is revealed with
its wonders.
38.
That I want thee, only thee - let
my heart repeat without end. All desires that distract me, day and
night, are false and empty to the core.
As the night keeps
hidden in its gloom the petition for light, even thus in the depth of my
unconsciousness rings the cry - 'I want thee, only thee'.
As
the storm still seeks its end in peace when it strikes against peace
with all its might, even thus my rebellion strikes against thy love and
still its cry is - 'I want thee, only thee'.
39.
When the heart is hard and parched up, come upon me with a shower of mercy.
When grace is lost from life, come with a burst of song.
When
tumultuous work raises its din on all sides shutting me out from
beyond, come to me, my lord of silence, with thy peace and rest.
When my beggarly heart sits crouched, shut up in a corner, break open the door, my king, and come with the ceremony of a king.
When desire blinds the mind with delusion and dust, O thou holy one, thou wakeful, come with thy light and thy thunder.
40.
The
rain has held back for days and days, my God, in my arid heart. The
horizon is fiercely naked - not the thinnest cover of a soft cloud, not
the vaguest hint of a distant cool shower.
Send thy angry storm, dark with death, if it is thy wish, and with lashes of lightning startle the sky from end to end.
But call back, my lord, call back this pervading silent heat, still and keen and cruel, burning the heart with dire despair.
Let the cloud of grace bend low from above like the tearful look of the mother on the day of the father's wrath.
41.
Where
dost thou stand behind them all, my lover, hiding thyself in the
shadows? They push thee and pass thee by on the dusty road, taking thee
for naught. I wait here weary hours spreading my offerings for thee,
while passers-by come and take my flowers, one by one, and my basket is
nearly empty.
The morning time is past, and the noon. In the
shade of evening my eyes are drowsy with sleep. Men going home glance at
me and smile and fill me with shame. I sit like a beggar maid, drawing
my skirt over my face, and when they ask me, what it is I want, I drop
my eyes and answer them not.
Oh, how, indeed, could I tell them
that for thee I wait, and that thou hast promised to come. How could I
utter for shame that I keep for my dowry this poverty. Ah, I hug this
pride in the secret of my heart.
I sit on the grass and gaze
upon the sky and dream of the sudden splendour of thy coming - all the
lights ablaze, golden pennons flying over thy car, and they at the
roadside standing agape, when they see thee come down from thy seat to
raise me from the dust, and set at thy side this ragged beggar girl
a-tremble with shame and pride, like a creeper in a summer breeze.
But
time glides on and still no sound of the wheels of thy chariot. Many a
procession passes by with noise and shouts and glamour of glory. Is it
only thou who wouldst stand in the shadow silent and behind them all?
And only I who would wait and weep and wear out my heart in vain
longing?
42.
Early in the day it was whispered that
we should sail in a boat, only thou and I, and never a soul in the world
would know of this our pilgrimage to no country and to no end.
In
that shoreless ocean, at thy silently listening smile my songs would
swell in melodies, free as waves, free from all bondage of words.
Is
the time not come yet? Are there works still to do? Lo, the evening has
come down upon the shore and in the fading light the seabirds come
flying to their nests.
Who knows when the chains will be off, and the boat, like the last glimmer of sunset, vanish into the night?
43.
The
day was when I did not keep myself in readiness for thee; and entering
my heart unbidden even as one of the common crowd, unknown to me, my
king, thou didst press the signet of eternity upon many a fleeting
moment of my life.
And today when by chance I light upon them
and see thy signature, I find they have lain scattered in the dust mixed
with the memory of joys and sorrows of my trivial days forgotten.
Thou
didst not turn in contempt from my childish play among dust, and the
steps that I heard in my playroom are the same that are echoing from
star to star.
44.
This is my delight, thus to wait
and watch at the wayside where shadow chases light and the rain comes in
the wake of the summer.
Messengers, with tidings from unknown
skies, greet me and speed along the road. My heart is glad within, and
the breath of the passing breeze is sweet.
From dawn till dusk I sit here before my door, and I know that of a sudden the happy moment will arrive when I shall see.
In the meanwhile I smile and I sing all alone. In the meanwhile the air is filling with the perfume of promise.
45.
Have you not heard his silent steps? He comes, comes, ever comes.
Every moment and every age, every day and every night he comes, comes, ever comes.
Many a song have I sung in many a mood of mind, but all their notes have always proclaimed, 'He comes, comes, ever comes.'
In the fragrant days of sunny April through the forest path he comes, comes, ever comes.
In the rainy gloom of July nights on the thundering chariot of clouds he comes, comes, ever comes.
In
sorrow after sorrow it is his steps that press upon my heart, and it is
the golden touch of his feet that makes my joy to shine.
------------
46.
I
know not from what distant time thou art ever coming nearer to meet me.
Thy sun and stars can never keep thee hidden from me for aye.
In many a morning and eve thy footsteps have been heard and thy messenger has come within my heart and called me in secret.
I know not only why today my life is all astir, and a feeling of tremulous joy is passing through my heart.
It is as if the time were come to wind up my work, and I feel in the air a faint smell of thy sweet presence.
47.
The
night is nearly spent waiting for him in vain. I fear lest in the
morning he suddenly come to my door when I have fallen asleep wearied
out. Oh friends, leave the way open to him - forbid him not.
If
the sounds of his steps does not wake me, do not try to rouse me, I
pray. I wish not to be called from my sleep by the clamorous choir of
birds, by the riot of wind at the festival of morning light. Let me
sleep undisturbed even if my lord comes of a sudden to my door.
Ah,
my sleep, precious sleep, which only waits for his touch to vanish. Ah,
my closed eyes that would open their lids only to the light of his
smile when he stands before me like a dream emerging from darkness of
sleep.
Let him appear before my sight as the first of all lights
and all forms. The first thrill of joy to my awakened soul let it come
from his glance. And let my return to myself be immediate return to him.
48.
The morning sea of silence broke into ripples
of bird songs; and the flowers were all merry by the roadside; and the
wealth of gold was scattered through the rift of the clouds while we
busily went on our way and paid no heed.
We sang no glad songs
nor played; we went not to the village for barter; we spoke not a word
nor smiled; we lingered not on the way. We quickened our pave more and
more as the time sped by.
The sun rose to the mid sky and doves
cooed in the shade. Withered leaves danced and whirled in the hot air of
noon. The shepherd boy drowsed and dreamed in the shadow of the banyan
tree, and I laid myself down by the water and stretched my tired limbs
on the grass.
My companions laughed at me in scorn; they held
their heads high and hurried on; they never looked back nor rested; they
vanished in the distant blue haze. They crossed many meadows and hills,
and passed through strange, far-away countries. All honour to you,
heroic host of the interminable path! Mockery and reproach pricked me to
rise, but found no response in me. I gave myself up for lost in the
depth of a glad humiliation - in the shadow of a dim delight.
The
repose of the sun-embroidered green gloom slowly spread over my heart. I
forgot for what I had travelled, and I surrendered my mind without
struggle to the maze of shadows and songs.
At last, when I woke
from my slumber and opened my eyes, I saw thee standing by me, flooding
my sleep with thy smile. How I had feared that the path was long and
wearisome, and the struggle to reach thee was hard!
49.
You came down from your throne and stood at my cottage door.
I was singing all alone in a corner, and the melody caught your ear. You came down and stood at my cottage door.
Masters
are many in your hall, and songs are sung there at all hours. But the
simple carol of this novice struck at your love. One plaintive little
strain mingled with the great music of the world, and with a flower for a
prize you came down and stopped at my cottage door.
50.
I
had gone a-begging from door to door in the village path, when thy
golden chariot appeared in the distance like a gorgeous dream and I
wondered who was this King of all kings!
My hopes rose high and
methought my evil days were at an end, and I stood waiting for alms to
be given unasked and for wealth scattered on all sides in the dust.
The
chariot stopped where I stood. Thy glance fell on me and thou camest
down with a smile. I felt that the luck of my life had come at last.
Then of a sudden thou didst hold out thy right hand and say 'What hast
thou to give to me?'
Ah, what a kingly jest was it to open thy
palm to a beggar to beg! I was confused and stood undecided, and then
from my wallet I slowly took out the least little grain of corn and gave
it to thee.
But how great my surprise when at the day's end I
emptied my bag on the floor to find a least little gram of gold among
the poor heap. I bitterly wept and wished that I had had the heart to
give thee my all.
51.
The night darkened. Our day's
works had been done. We thought that the last guest had arrived for the
night and the doors in the village were all shut. Only some said the
king was to come. We laughed and said 'No, it cannot be!'
It
seemed there were knocks at the door and we said it was nothing but the
wind. We put out the lamps and lay down to sleep. Only some said, 'It is
the messenger!' We laughed and said 'No, it must be the wind!'
There
came a sound in the dead of the night. We sleepily thought it was the
distant thunder. The earth shook, the walls rocked, and it troubled us
in our sleep. Only some said it was the sound of wheels. We said in a
drowsy murmur, 'No, it must be the rumbling of clouds!'
The
night was still dark when the drum sounded. The voice came 'Wake up!
delay not!' We pressed our hands on our hearts and shuddered with fear.
Some said, 'Lo, there is the king's flag!' We stood up on our feet and
cried 'There is no time for delay!'
The king has come - but
where are lights, where are wreaths? Where is the throne to seat him?
Oh, shame! Oh utter shame! Where is the hall, the decorations? Someone
has said, 'Vain is this cry! Greet him with empty hands, lead him into
thy rooms all bare!'
Open the doors, let the conch-shells be
sounded! in the depth of the night has come the king of our dark, dreary
house. The thunder roars in the sky. The darkness shudders with
lightning. Bring out thy tattered piece of mat and spread it in the
courtyard. With the storm has come of a sudden our king of the fearful
night.
52.
I thought I should ask of thee - but I
dared not - the rose wreath thou hadst on thy neck. Thus I waited for
the morning, when thou didst depart, to find a few fragments on the bed.
And like a beggar I searched in the dawn only for a stray petal or two.
Ah me, what is it I find? What token left of thy love? It is no
flower, no spices, no vase of perfumed water. It is thy mighty sword,
flashing as a flame, heavy as a bolt of thunder. The young light of
morning comes through the window and spread itself upon thy bed. The
morning bird twitters and asks, 'Woman, what hast thou got?' No, it is
no flower, nor spices, nor vase of perfumed water - it is thy dreadful
sword.
I sit and muse in wonder, what gift is this of thine. I
can find no place to hide it. I am ashamed to wear it, frail as I am,
and it hurts me when press it to my bosom. Yet shall I bear in my heart
this honour of the burden of pain, this gift of thine.
From now
there shall be no fear left for me in this world, and thou shalt be
victorious in all my strife. Thou hast left death for my companion and I
shall crown him with my life. Thy sword is with me to cut asunder my
bonds, and there shall be no fear left for me in the world.
From
now I leave off all petty decorations. Lord of my heart, no more shall
there be for me waiting and weeping in corners, no more coyness and
sweetness of demeanour. Thou hast given me thy sword for adornment. No
more doll's decorations for me!
53.
Beautiful is thy
wristlet, decked with stars and cunningly wrought in myriad-coloured
jewels. But more beautiful to me thy sword with its curve of lightning
like the outspread wings of the divine bird of Vishnu, perfectly poised
in the angry red light of the sunset.
It quivers like the one
last response of life in ecstasy of pain at the final stroke of death;
it shines like the pure flame of being burning up earty sense with one
fierce flash.
Beautiful is thy wristlet, decked with starry
gems; but thy sword, O lord of thunder, is wrought with uttermost
beauty, terrible to behold or think of.
54.
I asked
nothing from thee; I uttered not my name to thine ear. When thou took'st
thy leave I stood silent. I was alone by the well where the shadow of
the tree fell aslant, and the women had gone home with their brown
earthen pitchers full to the brim. They called me and shouted, 'Come
with us, the morning is wearing on to noon.' But I languidly lingered
awhile lost in the midst of vague musings.
I heard not thy steps
as thou camest. Thine eyes were sad when they fell on me; thy voice was
tired as thou spokest low - 'Ah, I am a thirsty traveller.' I started
up from my day-dreams and poured water from my jar on thy joined palms.
The leaves rustled overhead; the cuckoo sang from the unseen dark, and
perfume of babla flowers came from the bend of the road.
I stood
speecess with shame when my name thou didst ask. Indeed, what had I
done for thee to keep me in remembrance? But the memory that I could
give water to thee to allay thy thirst will cling to my heart and enfold
it in sweetness. The morning hour is late, the bird sings in weary
notes, neem leaves rustle overhead and I sit and think and think.
55.
Languor is upon your heart and the slumber is still on your eyes.
Has
not the word come to you that the flower is reigning in splendour among
thorns? Wake, oh awaken! let not the time pass in vain!
At the
end of the stony path, in the country of virgin solitude, my friend is
sitting all alone. Deceive him not. Wake, oh awaken!
What if the sky pants and trembles with the heat of the midday sun - what if the burning sand spreads its mantle of thirst -
Is
there no joy in the deep of your heart? At every footfall of yours,
will not the harp of the road break out in sweet music of pain?
56.
Thus
it is that thy joy in me is so full. Thus it is that thou hast come
down to me. O thou lord of all heavens, where would be thy love if I
were not?
Thou hast taken me as thy partner of all this wealth.
In my heart is the endless play of thy delight. In my life thy will is
ever taking shape.
And for this, thou who art the King of kings
hast decked thyself in beauty to captivate my heart. And for this thy
love loses itself in the love of thy lover, and there art thou seen in
the perfect union of two.
57.
Light, my light, the world-filling light, the eye-kissing light, heart-sweetening light!
Ah,
the light dances, my darling, at the centre of my life; the light
strikes, my darling, the chords of my love; the sky opens, the wind runs
wild, laughter passes over the earth.
The butterflies spread their sails on the sea of light. Lilies and jasmines surge up on the crest of the waves of light.
The light is shattered into gold on every cloud, my darling, and it scatters gems in profusion.
Mirth
spreads from leaf to leaf, my darling, and gladness without measure.
The heaven's river has drowned its banks and the flood of joy is abroad.
58.
Let all the strains of joy mingle in my last
song - the joy that makes the earth flow over in the riotous excess of
the grass, the joy that sets the twin brothers, life and death, dancing
over the wide world, the joy that sweeps in with the tempest, shaking
and waking all life with laughter, the joy that sits still with its
tears on the open red lotus of pain, and the joy that throws everything
it has upon the dust, and knows not a word.
59.
Yes,
I know, this is nothing but thy love, O beloved of my heart - this
golden light that dances upon the leaves, these idle clouds sailing
across the sky, this passing breeze leaving its coolness upon my
forehead.
The morning light has flooded my eyes - this is thy
message to my heart. Thy face is bent from above, thy eyes look down on
my eyes, and my heart has touched thy feet.
60.
On
the seashore of endless worlds children meet. The infinite sky is
motionless overhead and the restless water is boisterous. On the
seashore of endless worlds the children meet with shouts and dances.
They
build their houses with sand and they play with empty shells. With
withered leaves they weave their boats and smilingly float them on the
vast deep. Children have their play on the seashore of worlds.
They
know not how to swim, they know not how to cast nets. Pearl fishers
dive for pearls, merchants sail in their ships, while children gather
pebbles and scatter them again. they seek not for hidden treasures, they
know not how to cast nets.
The sea surges up with laughter and
pale gleams the smile of the sea beach. Death-dealing waves sing
meaningless ballads to the children, even like a mother while rocking
her baby's cradle. The sea plays with children, and pale gleams the
smile of the sea beach.
On the seashore of endless worlds
children meet. Tempest roams in the patess sky, ships get wrecked in the
trackless water, death is abroad and children play. On the seashore of
endless worlds is the great meeting of children.
61.
The
sleep that flits on baby's eyes - does anybody know from where it
comes? Yes, there is a rumour that it has its dwelling where, in the
fairy village among shadows of the forest dimly lit with glow-worms,
there hang two timid buds of enchantment. From there it comes to kiss
baby's eyes.
The smile that flickers on baby's lips when he
sleeps - does anybody know where it was born? Yes, there is a rumour
that a young pale beam of a crescent moon touched the edge of a
vanishing autumn cloud, and there the smile was first born in the dream
of a dew-washed morning - the smile that flickers on baby's lips when he
sleeps.
The sweet, soft freshness that blooms on baby's limbs -
does anybody know where it was hidden so long? Yes, when the mother was
a young girl it lay pervading her heart in tender and silent mystery of
love - the sweet, soft freshness that has bloomed on baby's limbs.
62.
When
I bring to you coloured toys, my child, I understand why there is such a
play of colours on clouds, on water, and why flowers are painted in
tints - when I give coloured toys to you, my child.
When I sing
to make you dance I truly now why there is music in leaves, and why
waves send their chorus of voices to the heart of the listening earth -
when I sing to make you dance.
When I bring sweet things to your
greedy hands I know why there is honey in the cup of the flowers and
why fruits are secretly filled with sweet juice - when I bring sweet
things to your greedy hands.
When I kiss your face to make you
smile, my darling, I surely understand what pleasure streams from the
sky in morning light, and what delight that is that is which the summer
breeze brings to my body - when I kiss you to make you smile.
63.
Thou
hast made me known to friends whom I knew not. Thou hast given me seats
in homes not my own. Thou hast brought the distant near and made a
brother of the stranger.
I am uneasy at heart when I have to
leave my accustomed shelter; I forget that there abides the old in the
new, and that there also thou abidest.
Through birth and death,
in this world or in others, wherever thou leadest me it is thou, the
same, the one companion of my endless life who ever linkest my heart
with bonds of joy to the unfamiliar.
When one knows thee, then
alien there is none, then no door is shut. Oh, grant me my prayer that I
may never lose the bliss of the touch of the one in the play of many.
64.
On
the slope of the desolate river among tall grasses I asked her,
'Maiden, where do you go shading your lamp with your mantle? My house is
all dark and lonesome - lend me your light!' she raised her dark eyes
for a moment and looked at my face through the dusk. 'I have come to the
river,' she said, 'to float my lamp on the stream when the daylight
wanes in the west.' I stood alone among tall grasses and watched the
timid flame of her lamp uselessly drifting in the tide.
In the
silence of gathering night I asked her, 'Maiden, your lights are all lit
- then where do you go with your lamp? My house is all dark and
lonesome - lend me your light.' She raised her dark eyes on my face and
stood for a moment doubtful. 'I have come,' she said at last, 'to
dedicate my lamp to the sky.' I stood and watched her light uselessly
burning in the void.
In the moonless gloom of midnight I ask
her, 'Maiden, what is your quest, holding the lamp near your heart? My
house is all dark and lonesome- - lend me your light.' She stopped for a
minute and thought and gazed at my face in the dark. 'I have brought my
light,' she said, 'to join the carnival of lamps.' I stood and watched
her little lamp uselessly lost among lights.
65.
What divine drink wouldst thou have, my God, from this overflowing cup of my life?
My
poet, is it thy delight to see thy creation through my eyes and to
stand at the portals of my ears silently to listen to thine own eternal
harmony?
Thy world is weaving words in my mind and thy joy is
adding music to them. Thou givest thyself to me in love and then feelest
thine own entire sweetness in me.
66.
She who ever
had remained in the depth of my being, in the twilight of gleams and of
glimpses; she who never opened her veils in the morning light, will be
my last gift to thee, my God, folded in my final song.
Words have wooed yet failed to win her; persuasion has stretched to her its eager arms in vain.
I
have roamed from country to country keeping her in the core of my
heart, and around her have risen and fallen the growth and decay of my
life.
Over my thoughts and actions, my slumbers and dreams, she reigned yet dwelled alone and apart.
many a man knocked at my door and asked for her and turned away in despair.
There was none in the world who ever saw her face to face, and she remained in her loneliness waiting for thy recognition.
67.
Thou art the sky and thou art the nest as well.
O thou beautiful, there in the nest is thy love that encloses the soul with colours and sounds and odours.
There comes the morning with the golden basket in her right hand bearing the wreath of beauty, silently to crown the earth.
And
there comes the evening over the lonely meadows deserted by herds,
through trackless paths, carrying cool draughts of peace in her golden
pitcher from the western ocean of rest.
But there, where spreads
the infinite sky for the soul to take her flight in, reigns the
stainless white radiance. There is no day nor night, nor form nor
colour, and never, never a word.
68.
Thy sunbeam
comes upon this earth of mine with arms outstretched and stands at my
door the livelong day to carry back to thy feet clouds made of my tears
and sighs and songs.
With fond delight thou wrappest about thy
starry breast that mantle of misty cloud, turning it into numberless
shapes and folds and colouring it with hues everchanging.
It is
so light and so fleeting, tender and tearful and dark, that is why thou
lovest it, O thou spotless and serene. And that is why it may cover thy
awful white light with its pathetic shadows.
69.
The same stream of life that runs through my veins night and day runs through the world and dances in rhythmic measures.
It
is the same life that shoots in joy through the dust of the earth in
numberless blades of grass and breaks into tumultuous waves of leaves
and flowers.
It is the same life that is rocked in the ocean-cradle of birth and of death, in ebb and in flow.
I
feel my limbs are made glorious by the touch of this world of life. And
my pride is from the life-throb of ages dancing in my blood this
moment.
70.
Is it beyond thee to be glad with the
gladness of this rhythm? to be tossed and lost and broken in the whirl
of this fearful joy?
All things rush on, they stop not, they look not behind, no power can hold them back, they rush on.
Keeping
steps with that restless, rapid music, seasons come dancing and pass
away - colours, tunes, and perfumes pour in endless cascades in the
abounding joy that scatters and gives up and dies every moment.
71.
That I should make much of myself and turn it on all sides, thus casting coloured shadows on thy radiance - such is thy maya.
Thou
settest a barrier in thine own being and then callest thy severed self
in myriad notes. This thy self-separation has taken body in me.
The
poignant song is echoed through all the sky in many-coloured tears and
smiles, alarms and hopes; waves rise up and sink again, dreams break and
form. In me is thy own defeat of self.
This screen that thou
hast raised is painted with innumerable figures with the brush of the
night and the day. Behind it thy seat is woven in wondrous mysteries of
curves, casting away all barren lines of straightness.
The great
pageant of thee and me has overspread the sky. With the tune of thee
and me all the air is vibrant, and all ages pass with the hiding and
seeking of thee and me.
72.
He it is, the innermost one, who awakens my being with his deep hidden touches.
He
it is who puts his enchantment upon these eyes and joyfully plays on
the chords of my heart in varied cadence of pleasure and pain.
He
it is who weaves the web of this maya in evanescent hues of gold and
silver, blue and green, and lets peep out through the folds his feet, at
whose touch I forget myself.
Days come and ages pass, and it is
ever he who moves my heart in many a name, in many a guise, in many a
rapture of joy and of sorrow.
73.
Deliverance is not for me in renunciation. I feel the embrace of freedom in a thousand bonds of delight.
Thou
ever pourest for me the fresh draught of thy wine of various colours
and fragrance, filling this earthen vessel to the brim.
My world will light its hundred different lamps with thy flame and place them before the altar of thy temple.
No, I will never shut the doors of my senses. The delights of sight and hearing and touch will bear thy delight.
Yes, all my illusions will burn into illumination of joy, and all my desires ripen into fruits of love.
74.
The day is no more, the shadow is upon the earth. It is time that I go to the stream to fill my pitcher.
The
evening air is eager with the sad music of the water. Ah, it calls me
out into the dusk. In the lonely lane there is no passer-by, the wind is
up, the ripples are rampant in the river.
I know not if I shall
come back home. I know not whom I shall chance to meet. There at the
fording in the little boat the unknown man plays upon his lute.
75.
Thy gifts to us mortals fulfil all our needs and yet run back to thee undiminished.
The
river has its everyday work to do and hastens through fields and
hamlets; yet its incessant stream winds towards the washing of thy feet.
The flower sweetens the air with its perfume; yet its last service is to offer itself to thee.
Thy worship does not impoverish the world.
From the words of the poet men take what meanings please them; yet their last meaning points to thee.
76.
Day
after day, O lord of my life, shall I stand before thee face to face.
With folded hands, O lord of all worlds, shall I stand before thee face
to face.
Under thy great sky in solitude and silence, with humble heart shall I stand before thee face to face.
In
this laborious world of thine, tumultuous with toil and with struggle,
among hurrying crowds shall I stand before thee face to face.
And when my work shall be done in this world, O King of kings, alone and speecess shall I stand before thee face to face.
77.
I
know thee as my God and stand apart - I do not know thee as my own and
come closer. I know thee as my father and bow before thy feet- I do not
grasp thy hand as my friend's.
I stand not where thou comest down and ownest thyself as mine, there to clasp thee to my heart and take thee as my comrade.
Thou
art the Brother amongst my brothers, but I heed them not, I divide not
my earnings with them, thus sharing my all with thee.
In
pleasure and in pain I stand not by the side of men, and thus stand by
thee. I shrink to give up my life, and thus do not plunge into the great
waters of life.
78.
When the creation was new and
all the stars shone in their first splendour, the gods held their
assembly in the sky and sang 'Oh, the picture of perfection! the joy
unalloyed!'
But one cried of a sudden - 'It seems that somewhere
there is a break in the chain of light and one of the stars has been
lost.'
The golden string of their harp snapped, their song
stopped, and they cried in dismay - 'Yes, that lost star was the best,
she was the glory of all heavens!'
From that day the search is
unceasing for her, and the cry goes on from one to the other that in her
the world has lost its one joy!
Only in the deepest silence of
night the stars smile and whisper among themselves - 'Vain is this
seeking! unbroken perfection is over all!'
79.
If it
is not my portion to meet thee in this life then let me ever feel that I
have missed thy sight - let me not forget for a moment, let me carry
the pangs of this sorrow in my dreams and in my wakeful hours.
As
my days pass in the crowded market of this world and my hands grow full
with the daily profits, let me ever feel that I have gained nothing -
let me not forget for a moment, let me carry the pangs of this sorrow in
my dreams and in my wakeful hours.
When I sit by the roadside,
tired and panting, when I spread my bed low in the dust, let me ever
feel that the long journey is still before me - let me not forget a
moment, let me carry the pangs of this sorrow in my dreams and in my
wakeful hours.
When my rooms have been decked out and the flutes
sound and the laughter there is loud, let me ever feel that I have not
invited thee to my house - let me not forget for a moment, let me carry
the pangs of this sorrow in my dreams and in my wakeful hours.
80.
I
am like a remnant of a cloud of autumn uselessly roaming in the sky, O
my sun ever-glorious! Thy touch has not yet melted my vapour, making me
one with thy light, and thus I count months and years separated from
thee.
If this be thy wish and if this be thy play, then take
this fleeting emptiness of mine, paint it with colours, gild it with
gold, float it on the wanton wind and spread it in varied wonders.
And
again when it shall be thy wish to end this play at night, I shall melt
and vanish away in the dark, or it may be in a smile of the white
morning, in a coolness of purity transparent.
81.
On
many an idle day have I grieved over lost time. But it is never lost,
my lord. Thou hast taken every moment of my life in thine own hands.
Hidden
in the heart of things thou art nourishing seeds into sprouts, buds
into blossoms, and ripening flowers into fruitfulness.
I was
tired and sleeping on my idle bed and imagined all work had ceased. In
the morning I woke up and found my garden full with wonders of flowers.
82.
Time is endless in thy hands, my lord. There is none to count thy minutes.
Days and nights pass and ages bloom and fade like flowers. Thou knowest how to wait.
Thy centuries follow each other perfecting a small wild flower.
We have no time to lose, and having no time we must scramble for a chances. We are too poor to be late.
And
thus it is that time goes by while I give it to every querulous man who
claims it, and thine altar is empty of all offerings to the last.
At the end of the day I hasten in fear lest thy gate to be shut; but I find that yet there is time.
83.
Mother, I shall weave a chain of pearls for thy neck with my tears of sorrow.
The stars have wrought their anklets of light to deck thy feet, but mine will hang upon thy breast.
Wealth
and fame come from thee and it is for thee to give or to withhold them.
But this my sorrow is absolutely mine own, and when I bring it to thee
as my offering thou rewardest me with thy grace.
84.
It is the pang of separation that spreads throughout the world and gives birth to shapes innumerable in the infinite sky.
It
is this sorrow of separation that gazes in silence all nights from star
to star and becomes lyric among rustling leaves in rainy darkness of
July.
It is this overspreading pain that deepens into loves and
desires, into sufferings and joy in human homes; and this it is that
ever melts and flows in songs through my poet's heart.
85.
When
the warriors came out first from their master's hall, where had they
hid their power? Where were their armour and their arms?
They looked poor and helpless, and the arrows were showered upon them on the day they came out from their master's hall.
When the warriors marched back again to their master's hall where did they hide their power?
They
had dropped the sword and dropped the bow and the arrow; peace was on
their foreheads, and they had left the fruits of their life behind them
on the day they marched back again to their master's hall.
86.
Death, thy servant, is at my door. He has crossed the unknown sea and brought thy call to my home.
The
night is dark and my heart is fearful - yet I will take up the lamp,
open my gates and bow to him my welcome. It is thy messenger who stands
at my door.
I will worship him placing at his feet the treasure of my heart.
He
will go back with his errand done, leaving a dark shadow on my morning;
and in my desolate home only my forlorn self will remain as my last
offering to thee.
87.
In desperate hope I go and search for her in all the corners of my room; I find her not.
My house is small and what once has gone from it can never be regained.
But infinite is thy mansion, my lord, and seeking her I have to come to thy door.
I stand under the golden canopy of thine evening sky and I lift my eager eyes to thy face.
I
have come to the brink of eternity from which nothing can vanish - no
hope, no happiness, no vision of a face seen through tears.
Oh,
dip my emptied life into that ocean, plunge it into the deepest
fullness. Let me for once feel that lost sweet touch in the allness of
the universe.
88.
Deity of the ruined temple! The
broken strings of Vina sing no more your praise. The bells in the
evening proclaim not your time of worship. The air is still and silent
about you.
In your desolate dwelling comes the vagrant spring
breeze. It brings the tidings of flowers - the flowers that for your
worship are offered no more.
Your worshipper of old wanders ever
longing for favour still refused. In the eventide, when fires and
shadows mingle with the gloom of dust, he wearily comes back to the
ruined temple with hunger in his heart.
Many a festival day comes to you in silence, deity of the ruined temple. Many a night of worship goes away with lamp unlit.
Many new images are built by masters of cunning art and carried to the holy stream of oblivion when their time is come.
Only the deity of the ruined temple remains unworshipped in deatess neglect.
89.
No
more noisy, loud words from me - such is my master's will. Henceforth I
deal in whispers. The speech of my heart will be carried on in
murmurings of a song.
Men hasten to the King's market. All the
buyers and sellers are there. But I have my untimely leave in the middle
of the day, in the thick of work.
Let then the flowers come out in my garden, though it is not their time; and let the midday bees strike up their lazy hum.
Full
many an hour have I spent in the strife of the good and the evil, but
now it is the pleasure of my playmate of the empty days to draw my heart
on to him; and I know not why is this sudden call to what useless
inconsequence!
90.
On the day when death will knock at thy door what wilt thou offer to him?
Oh, I will set before my guest the full vessel of my life - I will never let him go with empty hands.
All
the sweet vintage of all my autumn days and summer nights, all the
earnings and gleanings of my busy life will I place before him at the
close of my days when death will knock at my door.
91.
O thou the last fulfilment of life, Death, my death, come and whisper to me!
Day after day I have kept watch for thee; for thee have I borne the joys and pangs of life.
All
that I am, that I have, that I hope and all my love have ever flowed
towards thee in depth of secrecy. One final glance from thine eyes and
my life will be ever thine own.
The flowers have been woven and
the garland is ready for the bridegroom. After the wedding the bride
shall leave her home and meet her lord alone in the solitude of night.
92.
I
know that the day will come when my sight of this earth shall be lost,
and life will take its leave in silence, drawing the last curtain over
my eyes.
Yet stars will watch at night, and morning rise as before, and hours heave like sea waves casting up pleasures and pains.
When
I think of this end of my moments, the barrier of the moments breaks
and I see by the light of death thy world with its careless treasures.
Rare is its lowliest seat, rare is its meanest of lives.
Things
that I longed for in vain and things that I got - let them pass. Let me
but truly possess the things that I ever spurned and overlooked.
93.
I have got my leave. Bid me farewell, my brothers! I bow to you all and take my departure.
Here I give back the keys of my door - and I give up all claims to my house. I only ask for last kind words from you.
We
were neighbours for long, but I received more than I could give. Now
the day has dawned and the lamp that lit my dark corner is out. A
summons has come and I am ready for my journey.
94.
At this time of my parting, wish me good luck, my friends! The sky is flushed with the dawn and my path lies beautiful.
Ask not what I have with me to take there. I start on my journey with empty hands and expectant heart.
I
shall put on my wedding garland. Mine is not the red-brown dress of the
traveller, and though there are dangers on the way I have no fear in
mind.
The evening star will come out when my voyage is done and
the plaintive notes of the twilight melodies be struck up from the
King's gateway.
95.
I was not aware of the moment when I first crossed the threshold of this life.
What was the power that made me open out into this vast mystery like a bud in the forest at midnight!
When
in the morning I looked upon the light I felt in a moment that I was no
stranger in this world, that the inscrutable without name and form had
taken me in its arms in the form of my own mother.
Even so, in
death the same unknown will appear as ever known to me. And because I
love this life, I know I shall love death as well.
The child
cries out when from the right breast the mother takes it away, in the
very next moment to find in the left one its consolation.
96.
When I go from hence let this be my parting word, that what I have seen is unsurpassable.
I
have tasted of the hidden honey of this lotus that expands on the ocean
of light, and thus am I blessed - let this be my parting word.
In this playhouse of infinite forms I have had my play and here have I caught sight of him that is formless.
My
whole body and my limbs have thrilled with his touch who is beyond
touch; and if the end comes here, let it come - let this be my parting
word.
97.
When my play was with thee I never questioned who thou wert. I knew nor shyness nor fear, my life was boisterous.
In the early morning thou wouldst call me from my sleep like my own comrade and lead me running from glade to glade.
On
those days I never cared to know the meaning of songs thou sangest to
me. Only my voice took up the tunes, and my heart danced in their
cadence.
Now, when the playtime is over, what is this sudden
sight that is come upon me? The world with eyes bent upon thy feet
stands in awe with all its silent stars.
98.
I will deck thee with trophies, garlands of my defeat. It is never in my power to escape unconquered.
I
surely know my pride will go to the wall, my life will burst its bonds
in exceeding pain, and my empty heart will sob out in music like a
hollow reed, and the stone will melt in tears.
I surely know the hundred petals of a lotus will not remain closed for ever and the secret recess of its honey will be bared.
From
the blue sky an eye shall gaze upon me and summon me in silence.
Nothing will be left for me, nothing whatever, and utter death shall I
receive at thy feet.
99.
When I give up the helm I
know that the time has come for thee to take it. What there is to do
will be instantly done. Vain is this struggle.
Then take away
your hands and silently put up with your defeat, my heart, and think it
your good fortune to sit perfectly still where you are placed.
These my lamps are blown out at every little puff of wind, and trying to light them I forget all else again and again.
But
I shall be wise this time and wait in the dark, spreading my mat on the
floor; and whenever it is thy pleasure, my lord, come silently and take
thy seat here.
100.
I dive down into the depth of the ocean of forms, hoping to gain the perfect pearl of the formless.
No
more sailing from harbour to harbour with this my weather-beaten boat.
The days are long passed when my sport was to be tossed on waves.
And now I am eager to die into the deatess.
Into the audience hall by the fathomless abyss where swells up the music of toneless strings I shall take this harp of my life.
I
shall tune it to the notes of forever, and when it has sobbed out its
last utterance, lay down my silent harp at the feet of the silent.
101.
Ever
in my life have I sought thee with my songs. It was they who led me
from door to door, and with them have I felt about me, searching and
touching my world.
It was my songs that taught me all the
lessons I ever learnt; they showed me secret paths, they brought before
my sight many a star on the horizon of my heart.
They guided me
all the day long to the mysteries of the country of pleasure and pain,
and, at last, to what palace gate have the brought me in the evening at
the end of my journey?
102.
I boasted among men that
I had known you. They see your pictures in all works of mine. They come
and ask me, 'Who is he?' I know not how to answer them. I say, 'Indeed,
I cannot tell.' They blame me and they go away in scorn. And you sit
there smiling.
I put my tales of you into lasting songs. The
secret gushes out from my heart. They come and ask me, 'Tell me all your
meanings.' I know not how to answer them. I say, 'Ah, who knows what
they mean!' They smile and go away in utter scorn. And you sit there
smiling.
103.
In one salutation to thee, my God, let all my senses spread out and touch this world at thy feet.
Like
a rain-cloud of July hung low with its burden of unshed showers let all
my mind bend down at thy door in one salutation to thee.
Let
all my songs gather together their diverse strains into a single current
and flow to a sea of silence in one salutation to thee.
Like a
flock of homesick cranes flying night and day back to their mountain
nests let all my life take its voyage to its eternal home in one
salutation to thee.