Death and Mourning

Kipling's Vermont
The summer like a rajah dies,
And every widowed tree
Kindles for Congregationalist eyes
An alien suttee.

Hymns to the Night :
Now I know when will come the last morning -- when the Light no more scares away
Night and Love -- when sleep shall be without waking, and but one continuous dream. I
feel in me a celestial exhaustion. Long and weariful was my pilgrimage to the holy
grave, and crushing was the cross. The crystal wave, which, imperceptible to the
ordinary sense, springs in the dark bosom of the mound against whose foot breaks the
flood of the world, he who has tasted it, he who has stood on the mountain frontier of
the world, and looked across into the new land, into the abode of the Night -- truly he
turns not again into the tumult of the world, into the land where dwells the Light in
ceaseless unrest.
On those heights he builds for himself tabernacles -- tabernacles of peace, there longs
and loves and gazes across, until the welcomest of all hours draws him down into the
waters of the spring -- afloat above remains what is earthly, and is swept back in
storms, but what became holy by the touch of love, runs free through hidden ways to
the region beyond, where, like fragrances, it mingles with love asleep.
Still wakest thou, cheerful Light, that weary man to his labor -- and into me pourest
joyous life -- but thou wilest me not away from Memory's moss-grown monument.
Gladly will I stir busy hands, everywhere behold where thou hast need of me -- praise
the lustre of thy splendor -- pursue unwearied the lovely harmonies of thy skilled
handicraft -- gladly contemplate the clever pace of thy mighty, luminous clock --
explore the balance of the forces and the laws of the wondrous play of countless worlds
and their seasons. But true to the Night remains my secret heart, and to creative Love,
her daughter. Canst thou show me a heart eternally true? has thy sun friendly eyes
that know me? do thy stars lay hold of my longing hand? and return me the tender
pressure and the caressing word? was it thou did adorn them with colors and a
flickering outline -- or was it she who gave to thy jewels a higher, a dearer weight?
What delight, what pleasure offers thy life, to outweigh the transports of Death? Wears
not everything that inspires us the color of the Night? She sustains thee mother-like,
and to her thou owest all thy glory. Thou wouldst vanish into thyself -- in boundless
space thou wouldst dissolve, if she did not hold thee fast, if she swaddled thee not, so
that thou grewest warm, and flaming, begot the universe. Truly I was, before thou
wast -- the mother sent me with my brothers and sisters to inhabit thy world, to hallow
it with love that it might be an ever-present memorial -- to plant it with flowers
unfading. As yet they have not ripened, these thoughts divine -- as yet is there small
trace of our coming revelation -- One day thy clock will point to the end of time, and
then thou shalt be as one of us, and shalt, full of ardent longing, be extinguished and
die. I feel in me the close of thy activity -- heavenly freedom, and blessed return. With
wild pangs I recognize thy distance from our home, thy resistance against the ancient,
glorious heaven. Thy rage and thy raving are in vain. Unscorchable stands the cross --
victory-banner of our breed.
Over I journey
And for each pain
A pleasant sting only
Shall one day remain.
Yet in a few moments
Then free am I,
And intoxicated
In Love's lap lie.
Life everlasting
Lifts, wave-like, at me,


I gaze from its summit
Down after thee.
Your lustre must vanish
Yon mound underneath --
A shadow will bring thee
Thy cooling wreath.
Oh draw at my heart, love,
Draw till I'm gone,
That, fallen asleep, I
Still may love on.
I feel the flow of
Death's youth-giving flood
To balsam and ether
Transform my blood --
I live all the daytime
In faith and in might
And in holy fire
I die every night.

I have seen almost all the possible Troubles in my life

I have seen almost all the possible Troubles in my life,
The last one that I have to face is the Death.

Ghazal


I wish to go and dwell,
In such a place,
Where there's no one else.
No one to understand my speech,
No one around to talk with,
There, I want to reach.


I wish to build,
One such house,
Without a door to enter,
Without the boundary walls,
Thus there will be no neighbours,
And there will be no guard.


There will be no one thus,
To take care of me,
When I will fell ill.
And there will be no one,
To mourn or cry,
When I will die.

In this world of ours,
Yo no naka wa kutte hako shite nete okite
Sate sono ato wa shinuru bakari zo
In this world of ours,
We eat only to cast out,
Sleep only to wake,
And what comes after all that
Is simply to die at last.

Lays of Sorrow

The day was wet, the rain fell souse
Like jars of strawberry jam, [1] a
sound was heard in the old henhouse,
A beating of a hammer.
Of stalwart form, and visage warm,
Two youths were seen within it,
Splitting up an old tree into perches for their poultry
At a hundred strokes [2] a minute.
The work is done, the hen has taken
Possession of her nest and eggs,
Without a thought of eggs and bacon, [3]
(Or I am very much mistaken happy)
She turns over each shell,
To be sure that all's well,
Looks into the straw
To see there's no flaw,
Goes once round the house, [4]
Half afraid of a mouse,
Then sinks calmly to rest
On the top of her nest,
First doubling up each of her legs.
Time rolled away, and so did every shell,
"Small by degrees and beautifully less,"
As the large mother with a powerful spell [5]
Forced each in turn its contents to express, [6]
But ah! "imperfect is expression,"
Some poet said, I don't care who,
If you want to know you must go elsewhere,
One fact I can tell, if you're willing to hear,
He never attended a Parliament Session,
For I'm certain that if he had ever been there,
Full quickly would he have changed his ideas,
With the hissings, the hootings, the groans and the cheers.
And as to his name it is pretty clear
That it wasn't me and it wasn't you!


And so it fell upon a day,
(That is, it never rose again)
A chick was found upon the hay,
Its little life had ebbed away.
No longer frolicsome and gay,
No longer could it run or play.
"And must we, chicken, must we part?"
Its master [7] cried with bursting heart,
And voice of agony and pain.
So one, whose ticket's marked "Return", [8]
When to the lonely roadside station
He flies in fear and perturbation,
Thinks of his homethe
hissing urnThen
runs with flying hat and hair,
And, entering, finds to his despair
He's missed the very last train. [9]



Too long it were to tell of each conjecture
Of chicken suicide, and poultry victim,
The deadly frown, the stern and dreary lecture,
The timid guess, "perhaps some needle pricked him!"
The din of voice, the words both loud and many,
The sob, the tear, the sigh that none could smother,
Till all agreed "a shilling to a penny
It killed itself, and we acquit the mother!"
Scarce was the verdict spoken,
When that still calm was broken,
A childish form hath burst into the throng;
With tears and looks of sadness,
That bring no news of gladness,
But tell too surely something hath gone wrong!
"The sight I have come upon
The stoutest heart [10] would sicken,
That nasty hen has been and gone
And killed another chicken!"

Sylvester’s Dying Bed

I woke up this mornin’
’Bout half-past three.
All the womens in town
Was gathered round me.


Sweet gals was a-moanin’,
“Sylvester’s gonna die!”
And a hundred pretty mamas
Bowed their heads to cry.


I woke up little later
’Bout half-past fo’,
The doctor ‘n’ undertaker’s
Both at ma do’.


Black gals was a-beggin’,
“You can’t leave us here!”
Brown-skins cryin’, “Daddy!
Honey! Baby! Don’t go, dear!”


But I felt ma time’s a-comin’,
And I know’d I’s dyin’ fast.
I seed the River Jerden
A-creepin’ muddy past—
But I’s still Sweet Papa ’Vester,
Yes, sir! Long as life do last!


So I hollers, “Com’ere, babies,
Fo’ to love yo’ daddy right!”
And I reaches up to hug ’em—
When the Lawd put out the light.


Then everything was darkness
In a great ... big ... night.

Sick Room

How quiet
It is in this sick room
Where on the bed
A silent woman lies between two lovers-
Life and Death,
And all three covered with a sheet of pain.

Deceased


Harlem
Sent him home
in a long box-
Too dead
To know why:

The licker
Was lye.

The Beauty of Death XIV
Part One - The Calling
Let me sleep, for my soul is intoxicated with love and
Let me rest, for my spirit has had its bounty of days and nights;
Light the candles and burn the incense around my bed, and
Scatter leaves of jasmine and roses over my body;
Embalm my hair with frankincense and sprinkle my feet with perfume,
And read what the hand of Death has written on my forehead.
Let me rest in the arms of Slumber, for my open eyes are tired;
Let the silver-stringed lyre quiver and soothe my spirit;
Weave from the harp and lute a veil around my withering heart.
Sing of the past as you behold the dawn of hope in my eyes, for
It's magic meaning is a soft bed upon which my heart rests.
Dry your tears, my friends, and raise your heads as the flowers
Raise their crowns to greet the dawn.
Look at the bride of Death standing like a column of light
Between my bed and the infinite;
Hold your breath and listen with me to the beckoning rustle of
Her white wings.
Come close and bid me farewell; touch my eyes with smiling lips.
Let the children grasp my hands with soft and rosy fingers;
Let the ages place their veined hands upon my head and bless me;
Let the virgins come close and see the shadow of God in my eyes,
And hear the echo of His will racing with my breath.
Part Two - The Ascending
I have passed a mountain peak and my soul is soaring in the
Firmament of complete and unbound freedom;
I am far, far away, my companions, and the clouds are
Hiding the hills from my eyes.
The valleys are becoming flooded with an ocean of silence, and the
Hands of oblivion are engulfing the roads and the houses;
The prairies and fields are disappearing behind a white specter
That looks like the spring cloud, yellow as the candlelight
And red as the twilight.
The songs of the waves and the hymns of the streams
Are scattered, and the voices of the throngs reduced to silence;


And I can hear naught but the music of Eternity
In exact harmony with the spirit's desires.
I am cloaked in full whiteness;
I am in comfort; I am in peace.
Part Three - The Remains
Unwrap me from this white linen shroud and clothe me
With leaves of jasmine and lilies;
Take my body from the ivory casket and let it rest
Upon pillows of orange blossoms.
Lament me not, but sing songs of youth and joy;
Shed not tears upon me, but sing of harvest and the winepress;
Utter no sigh of agony, but draw upon my face with your
Finger the symbol of Love and Joy.
Disturb not the air's tranquility with chanting and requiems,
But let your hearts sing with me the song of Eternal Life;
Mourn me not with apparel of black,
But dress in color and rejoice with me;
Talk not of my departure with sighs in your hearts; close
Your eyes and you will see me with you forevermore.
Place me upon clusters of leaves and
Carry my upon your friendly shoulders and
Walk slowly to the deserted forest.
Take me not to the crowded burying ground lest my slumber
Be disrupted by the rattling of bones and skulls.
Carry me to the cypress woods and dig my grave where violets
And poppies grow not in the other's shadow;
Let my grave be deep so that the flood will not
Carry my bones to the open valley;
Let my grace be wide, so that the twilight shadows
Will come and sit by me.
Take from me all earthly raiment and place me deep in my
Mother Earth; and place me with care upon my mother's breast.
Cover me with soft earth, and let each handful be mixed
With seeds of jasmine, lilies and myrtle; and when they
Grow above me, and thrive on my body's element they will
Breathe the fragrance of my heart into space;
And reveal even to the sun the secret of my peace;
And sail with the breeze and comfort the wayfarer.
Leave me then, friends - leave me and depart on mute feet,
As the silence walks in the deserted valley;
Leave me to God and disperse yourselves slowly, as the almond


And apple blossoms disperse under the vibration of Nisan's breeze.
Go back to the joy of your dwellings and you will find there
That which Death cannot remove from you and me.
Leave with place, for what you see here is far away in meaning
From the earthly world. Leave me.

A Poet's Death is His Life IV
The dark wings of night enfolded the city upon which Nature had spread a pure white
garment of snow; and men deserted the streets for their houses in search of warmth,
while the north wind probed in contemplation of laying waste the gardens. There in the
suburb stood an old hut heavily laden with snow and on the verge of falling. In a dark
recess of that hovel was a poor bed in which a dying youth was lying, staring at the
dim light of his oil lamp, made to flicker by the entering winds. He a man in the spring
of life who foresaw fully that the peaceful hour of freeing himself from the clutches of
life was fast nearing. He was awaiting Death's visit gratefully, and upon his pale face
appeared the dawn of hope; and on his lops a sorrowful smile; and in his eyes
forgiveness.
He was poet perishing from hunger in the city of living rich. He was placed in the
earthly world to enliven the heart of man with his beautiful and profound sayings. He
as noble soul, sent by the Goddess of Understanding to soothe and make gentle the
human spirit. But alas! He gladly bade the cold earth farewell without receiving a smile
from its strange occupants.
He was breathing his last and had no one at his bedside save the oil lamp, his only
companion, and some parchments upon which he had inscribed his heart's feeling. As
he salvaged the remnants of his withering strength he lifted his hands heavenward; he
moved his eyes hopelessly, as if wanting to penetrate the ceiling in order to see the
stars from behind the veil clouds.
And he said, "Come, oh beautiful Death; my soul is longing for you. Come close to me
and unfasten the irons life, for I am weary of dragging them. Come, oh sweet Death,
and deliver me from my neighbors who looked upon me as a stranger because I
interpret to them the language of the angels. Hurry, oh peaceful Death, and carry me
from these multitudes who left me in the dark corner of oblivion because I do not bleed
the weak as they do. Come, oh gentle Death, and enfold me under your white wings,
for my fellowmen are not in want of me. Embrace me, oh Death, full of love and
mercy; let your lips touch my lips which never tasted a mother's kiss, not touched a
sister's cheeks, not caresses a sweetheart's fingertips. Come and take me, by beloved
Death."
Then, at the bedside of the dying poet appeared an angel who possessed a
supernatural and divine beauty, holding in her hand a wreath of lilies. She embraced
him and closed his eyes so he could see no more, except with the eye of his spirit. She
impressed a deep and long and gently withdrawn kiss that left and eternal smile of
fulfillment upon his lips. Then the hovel became empty and nothing was lest save
parchments and papers which the poet had strewn with bitter futility.
Hundreds of years later, when the people of the city arose from the diseases slumber
of ignorance and saw the dawn of knowledge, they erected a monument in the most
beautiful garden of the city and celebrated a feast every year in honor of that poet,
whose writings had freed them. Oh, how cruel is man's ignorance!

The Month of Poush

Lo! Winter comes!
She comes across an ocean of sorrow and tears.
Beware! Beware!
She comes from behind the horizon enveloped


in thick mist.
With her advent, alas! in the Ieafy forest
A farewell dirge seems to go round
The parting Day (Ah me!) casts a sad look
Losing as she does-the Evening Star that

lights her path.
See! Winter sets in -
She represents the sadness of the year's

journey, a loss of Eternity,
The farewell season of ripe paddy,

the dread of new arrival-
Beware! Beware! She is come! -
Dry breath, and Oh! the choked voice

of a farewell deeply laden with tears -

Arise, wayfarer! Thou hast to cover
a long distance casting a sad look
from thy black eyes.

[Translation: Abdul Hakim]

The Curse

When I shall be no more
You will suffer, I promise,
Cursed, friendless and alone.
Then you will ask the evening star about me,
And with my picture engrave, fin your heart
Will roam through forests and seas
And around hills and dales,
Weeping many a desolate tear.
Then you will realise, my dear,
Then you will search for me desperately
Far and near.
When your soul will tremble
At some one's familiar touch,
And your heart will gladden
Imagining my presence by your bed,
You will suddenly wake up with a start
From your sleep,
And discover with a freezing heart
That it was nothing but an empty dream.


With eager arms spread
You will advance to embrace,
But there will be no trace of me.
Instead, you will meet
An emptiness, dull and dreary.
In anguish you will close your eyes,
Then my darling will you realise.
Trying to sing
You will find your voice choked with tears.
And, all around, people will whisper
About the song, taught by that stranger,
And then you will remember me,
And the fond caresses I bestowed on you.
Thinking of those nights
Your hard and glittering eyes
Will overflow with brimming tears
Then will you regret your past deceptions,
Then will you realise the pang of separation.
When your garden will grow fragrant
With daisies, jasmine and ivy bowers
You will suddenly think of my grave
Covered with snow-white flowers,
And your fingers, busy in making a garland
Will suddenly grow1hesitant and numb.
Your smiling face will turn pale and wan,
And tears will swim in your eyes,
Then, my dear, will you realise.


Autumn wind will come again,
And the lovely dewy nights will reappear
All, all will remain
Save this traveller, bound for the eternal night.



Friends will gather by your side.
And the love will take you in his arms,
But suddenly his touch
Will bring to your mind
The touch of another one.
Turning the joyous moment poisonous and bitter.
That is my cruse for you, sweetheart dear.


Winter nights will come again
But I will return no more.
Yet you will remember the time
When resting your head on my loving arm
You quietly slept, with only contempt in your heart.
The memory of those days
Will make your bed one of singing thorns,
I forecast.


The tide will come in the river again.
Again the boat will float en a pleasure cruise
With gay and loving company.
And yet, the memory of other voyages,
Of a boat speeding by the dark coast,
And of me sitting close beside


Will haunt you like a ghost relentlessly.
Then will Your tears mingle with your sighs,
Then you will realise..


When Your friend will be imprisoned like me
You will shed bitter tears,
When he will treat You negligently
Your happiness will lie in ruins
Then will You find Your days
Cheerless, dreary and lying.
Then will you realise, how very wrong
You were about me.


The rises will blossom again
Again the stars will shine,
And the pale moon reign in the sky:
Season will follow season in regular order,.
But for you
There will be no pleasure.
You will only cry and bewail your lost treasure.


The storm will come,
All tornado will appear,
All ties will break asunder.
And your tiny cottage will tremble in fear.
Then you will remember him
Who will not be by your side.



And you will hanker for his caresses, my dear.
At that hour will you realise.
At that hour will you regret your profuse lies.


The wound in my bosom
That once hurt you so..
Would perhaps appear sweet to. you now.


Tired and weary and forlorn at last
You might now seek it yourself,
And then shall I reappear.
And who knows
You will probably throw yourself
In my arms in a pleasant swoon
And worship me in humility.
Then will you know, my dear,
Then will the final truth be simple and clear.


[Translation: Kabir Chowdhury]

My Beauty

Dressed as a bridegroom, I know
my beauty shall come from afar,
across distant lands of separation,
after ages together.

There he comes in silence
attired as my dear death,
who would never leave my home.

[Original: Borer beshe ashbe jani; Translation: Mohammad Nurul Huda]

Grief-Laden Mid-Night

In this still solitude of deep mid-night
Tears unbidden appear in my eyes
What recollection doth enrapture
Whose disregard doth agonize the breast?
What wail of disappointment doth in
the bottom of her heart arise and start
a flood of tears?


The agony of my unfulfilled life
I cannot conceal this mid-night,
Thus in the privacy of my solitary,
bed I do but burst into overflowing tears.


On such a night arose once a hundred
desires in my bosom and now their
despondency is writ large in that
drooping Shefalika and in the
pathos of the Purabi strains.


[Translation: Abdul Hakim]

Fateha-i-Doazdaham [The Passing Away]

What an amazing sight is this!
Tears well up even is Azrail's eyes!
His stony heart lies in a sea of grief

trembling like a leaf.
His iron fist, ever alert to make the kill,

is weak and palsied,
his mind dull and inert, his heart lacerated,
his blue headgear kissing the dust in despair!
Even Gabriel's fiery wings appear to be in pieces,
The debt of the world is all but paid,
and yet the heart is full of pain.
Mikail ceaselessly pours all the waters
of the salty seas on the bosom of the earth.
In the dark still night pine branches swing

endlessly in the stormy wind.
Is this the same moon of the twelfth night?
Is this the same Rabiul Awwal?
In the northeastern sky a dark flag flies.
Even Israfil's bugle of annihilation cries weakly.
The heart-crushing thunder, too, weeps

in inconsolable grief.
O Azrail Satan, why do you stand at the

prophet's door?
But even in his eyes tears well up
and they flood the plains of Medina!
The mighty Borrak raises his head
and with his prancing feet spans the earth

and the sky;
he looks at God's throne and neighs angrily

and yet with pity!
All the angels and fairies weep today,
Even the flames of Hell die
leaving only a sea of weary waters.
Today even all the nargis lala of Firdous

break down in a flood of tears.

Mother earth clasps to her bosom

the corpse of her son,
her whole body shakes with deep sighs,
and in the caves of hell mourn the genii.
Well, did Solomon die a second death?
The doe does not care today for her young ones,
they go without their mother's milk'
The birds, too, have forgotten to sing.
All the leaves and flowers fall off from tile trees
and a chilly north wind blows heavily,
The world seems to have reached the end of her days,
all her veins and arteries appear to have snapped.
Mecca and Medina, overwhelmed with grief,

look desolate and dead.
It seems all have assembled in the plain
of Roz-Hashr


and are now crazily running about everywhere.
Even the Kaaba trembles violently every now and then.
The whole creation seems to be suffocating!


All happy tunes sound weak and subdued;
a sad strain pervades the whole atmosphere.
Whose sharp edged sword strikes at the distant moon?
Tears roll down Abu Bakr's cheeks in an endless stream,
and mother Ayesha's cry frightens even the stars


in the sky.
Maddened with grief, Omar brandishes his sword

and cries,
'I shall not spare even God,
Him I shall kill!'
Bereft of his senses the mighty hero rants,
'Who says that the prophet is dead?
Who wants to take his body to the grave?
Let him come near, and I'll severe

his head from his neck!'

Who cry with such broken hearts
in the mosques and over the domes and minarets.?
The muazzin, too, is upset.
Deep is his grief, his heart dull and heavy.
Even Belal's voice breaks in uncontrollable anguish


as he recites the azan! -
The call for janaza, as it tearfully trembles

in the air,
seems to pluck one's heart out!
grief-stricken Usman lies in a swoon,
and the heroic Ali sobs like a child,
sorrow and pain have blunted his double edged zulfiquar!
And, look, there the prophet's darling-daughter

Fatima sobs in heart-breaking grief.
'Where has father gone?', she cries,
and wildly runs about with per uncombed hair,


all dishevelled and awry.

Hassan and Hossain writhe on the ground

like two stricken doves,
'Where has grandpa gone?', they wail,
and look for him everywhere.
The day has lost its sun,

the night its moon and stars.
The world looks sombre and dark
and all eyes shed tears of blood.
The seven seas chum and foam

and appear to drown the heavens above,
they seem to be sweeping away the whole universe,
leaving nothing behind but a vast ocean

of salty tears.


Even God looks sad and restless,
He longs to clasp His friend to His breast,
and yet a strange pain sears His heart;
how can He snatch one away from the


bosom of the earth
for whom the whole creation laments

in this fashion!
There is a great rejoicing in Heaven today.
A mood of festivity prevails there.
All the angels and fairies heartily sing;

'SalIa Allahu-Alaihe-Salam!'
They stand row after row with folded hands
and sing the prophet's praise.

Tears well up only in mother earth's eyes!
Have Amina, Abdullah and the ever devoted
Khadija come?
Look! A gracious smile lights up the face

of even the Lord of the universe! .
Only the children of mother earth lament;
'What is this injustice of yours, O God?'
Today the bright lights of Heaven grow brighter still,
and a happier laughter rings out there,
while mother earth's light dies

and an inky blackness engulfs her!

Today over the tears of the earth
Heaven's laughter rings out endlessly,
and like the roaring of the ocean
from every comer resound the words:

'Salla Allahu-Alaihe-Salam!'

[Original: the same as above; Translation: Kabir Chowdhury]

A Parting

It was no passing encounter on the street,
dear friend.
It was no momentary conversation
on the side-walk.
It was no casual handclasp
at the sudden close of a trip.
You came close to our soul
unfolding yourself moment by moment.
You came not as a conqueror
but as a comrade.
With your smile you won
our hearts.
You did not occupy the throne
and become a king
You entrenched yourself in our hearts
and became a sovereign there.
And so you suffered more than us
when the time came
to say goodbye and depart,
Through timeless acquaintance
you had become one of our own.
Now in our million bleeding hearts
you will forever live as a
tender grief.
I know I'll see you again,
dear friend.
Ours was no casual meeting
on the side-walk.

[Translation: Kabir Chowdhury]

The Swan flies away

The Swan Will Fly Away All Alone,
Spectacle of the World Will Be a Mere Fair
As the Leaf Falls from the Tree
Is Difficult to Find
Who Knows Where it Will Fall
Once it is Struck with a Gust Of Wind
When Life Span is Complete
Then Listening to Orders, Following Others, Will Be Over
The Messengers of Yama are Very Strong
It's an Entanglement with the Yama
Servant Kabir Praises the Attributes of the Lord
He Finds the Lord Soon
Guru Will Go According to His Doings
The Disciple According to His!

The Last Flight

Ud Jayega Huns Akela,
Jug Darshan Ka Mela
Jaise Paat Gire Taruvar Se,
Milna Bahut Duhela
Naa Jane Kidhar Girega,
Lageya Pawan Ka Rela
Jub Howe Umur Puri,
Jab Chute Ga Hukum Huzuri
Jum Ke Doot Bade Mazboot,
Jum Se Pada Jhamela
Das Kabir Har Ke Gun Gawe,
Wah Har Ko Paran Pawe
Guru Ki Karni Guru Jayega,
Chele Ki Karni Chela


English Translation


The Swan Will Fly Away All Alone,
Spectacle of the World Will Be a Mere Fair
As the Leaf Falls from the Tree
Is Difficult to Find
Who Knows Where it Will Fall
Once it is Struck with a Gust Of Wind
When Life Span is Complete
Then Listening to Orders, Following Others, Will Be Over
The Messengers of Yama are Very Strong
It's an Entanglement with the Yama
Servant Kabir Praises the Attributes of the Lord
He Finds the Lord Soon
Guru Will Go According to His Doings
The Disciple According to His

Tentacles of Time

Sadho Ye Murdon Ka Gaon
Peer Mare, Pygambar Mari Hain
Mari Hain Zinda Jogi
Raja Mari Hain, Parja Mari Hain
Mari Hain Baid Aur Rogi
Chanda Mari Hain, Suraj Mari Hain
Mari Hain Dharni Akasa
Chaudan Bhuvan Ke Chaudhry Mari Hain
In Hun Ki Ka Asa
Nauhun Mari Hain, Dus Hun Mari Hain
Mari Hain Sahaj Athasi
Tethis Koti Devata Mari Hain
Badi Kaal Ki Bazi
Naam Anam Anant Rehat Hai
Duja Tatva Na Hoi
Kahe Kabir Suno Bhai Sadho
Bhatak Maro Mat Koi


English Translation


Oh Sadhu This is the Village of the Dead


The Saints Have Died, The God-Messengers Die
The Life-Filled Yogis Die Too |
The Kings Die, The Subjects Die
The Healers and the Sick Die Too ||


The Moon Dies, The Sun Dies
The Earth and Sky Die Too |
Even the Caretakers of the Fourteen Worlds Die
Why Hope For Any of These ||


The Nine Die, The Ten Die
The Eighty Eight Die Easily Too |
The Thirty Three Crore Devatas Die
It's a Big Game of Time ||


The Un-Named Naam Lives Without Any End
There is No Other Truth ||
Says Kabir Listen Oh Sadhu
Don't Get Lost and Die ||

His Death In Benares

His death in Benares
Won't save the assassin
From certain hell,


Any more than a dip
In the Ganges will send
Frogs—or you—to paradise.


My home, says Kabir,
Is where there's no day, no night,
And no holy book in sight


To squat on our lives.

To a Young Poet who Killed Himself
When you had played with life a space
And made it drink and lust and sing,
You flung it back into God's face
And thought you did a noble thing.
"Lo, I have lived and loved," you said,
"And sung to fools too dull to hear me.
Now for a cool and grassy bed
With violets in blossom near me."
Well, rest is good for weary feet,
Although they ran for no great prize;
And violets are very sweet,
Although their roots are in your eyes.
But hark to what the earthworms say
Who share with you your muddy haven:
"The fight was on -- you ran away.
You are a coward and a craven."
"The rug is ruined where you bled;
It was a dirty way to die!
To put a bullet through your head
And make a silly woman cry!
You could not vex the merry stars
Nor make them heed you, dead or living.
Not all your puny anger mars
God's irresistible forgiving.
"Yes, God forgives and men forget,
And you're forgiven and forgotten.
You may be gaily sinning yet
And quick and fresh instead of rotten.
And when you think of love and fame
And all that might have come to pass,
Then don't you feel a little shame?
And don't you think you were an ass?"

The White Ships and the Red
(For Alden March)
With drooping sail and pennant
That never a wind may reach,
They float in sunless waters
Beside a sunless beach.
Their mighty masts and funnels
Are white as driven snow,
And with a pallid radiance
Their ghostly bulwarks glow.
Here is a Spanish galleon
That once with gold was gay,
Here is a Roman trireme
Whose hues outshone the day.
But Tyrian dyes have faded,
And prows that once were bright
With rainbow stains wear only
Death's livid, dreadful white.
White as the ice that clove her
That unforgotten day,
Among her pallid sisters
The grim Titanic lay.
And through the leagues above her
She looked aghast, and said:
"What is this living ship that comes
Where every ship is dead?"
The ghostly vessels trembled
From ruined stern to prow;
What was this thing of terror
That broke their vigil now?
Down through the startled ocean
A mighty vessel came,
Not white, as all dead ships must be,
But red, like living flame!
The pale green waves about her
Were swiftly, strangely dyed,
By the great scarlet stream that flowed
From out her wounded side.
And all her decks were scarlet
And all her shattered crew.
She sank among the white ghost ships
And stained them through and through.
The grim Titanic greeted her
"And who art thou?" she said;
"Why dost thou join our ghostly fleet
Arrayed in living red?
We are the ships of sorrow


Who spend the weary night,
Until the dawn of Judgment Day,
Obscure and still and white."
"Nay," said the scarlet visitor,
"Though I sink through the sea,
A ruined thing that was a ship,
I sink not as did ye.
For ye met with your destiny
By storm or rock or fight,
So through the lagging centuries
Ye wear your robes of white.
"But never crashing iceberg
Nor honest shot of foe,
Nor hidden reef has sent me
The way that I must go.
My wound that stains the waters,
My blood that is like flame,
Bear witness to a loathly deed,
A deed without a name.
"I went not forth to battle,
I carried friendly men,
The children played about my decks,
The women sang -- and then --
And then -- the sun blushed scarlet
And Heaven hid its face,
The world that God created
Became a shameful place!
"My wrong cries out for vengeance,
The blow that sent me here
Was aimed in Hell. My dying scream
Has reached Jehovah's ear.
Not all the seven oceans
Shall wash away that stain;
Upon a brow that wears a crown
I am the brand of Cain."
When God's great voice assembles
The fleet on Judgment Day,
The ghosts of ruined ships will rise
In sea and strait and bay.
Though they have lain for ages
Beneath the changeless flood,
They shall be white as silver,
But one -- shall be like blood.

Susana Soca
With lingering love she gazed at the dispersed
Colors of dusk. It pleased her utterly
To lose herself in the complex melody
Or in the cunous life to be found in verse.
lt was not the primal red but rather grays
That spun the fine thread of her destiny,
For the nicest distinctions and all spent
In waverings, ambiguities, delays.
Lacking the nerve to tread this treacherous
Labyrinth, she looked in on, whom without,
The shapes, the turbulence, the striving rout,
(Like the other lady of the looking glass.)
The gods that dwell too far away for prayer
Abandoned her to the final tiger, Fire.