Soul

My People

The night is beautiful,
So the faces of my people.


The stars are beautiful,
So the eyes of my people.


Beautiful, also, is the sun.
Beautiful, also, are the souls of my people.

Negro Speaks of Rivers

I've known rivers:
I've known rivers ancient as the world and older than the
flow of human blood in human veins

My soul has grown deep like the rivers.


I bathed in the Euphrates when dawns were young
I built my hut near the Congo and it lulled me to sleep.
I looked upon the Nile and raised the pyramids above it.
I heard the singing of the Mississippi when Abe Lincoln


went down to New Orleans, and I've seen its muddy
bosom turn all golden in the sunset

I've known rivers:
Ancient, dusky rivers.

My soul has grown deep like the rivers.

Helen Keller

She,
In the dark,
Found light
Brighter than many ever see.
She,
Within herself,
Found loveliness,
Through the soul's own mastery.
And now the world receives
From her dower:
The message of the strength
Of inner power.

I Dream A World

I dream a world where man
No other man will scorn,
Where love will bless the earth
And peace its paths adorn
I dream a world where all
Will know sweet freedom's way,
Where greed no longer saps the soul
Nor avarice blights our day.
A world I dream where black or white,
Whatever race you be,
Will share the bounties of the earth
And every man is free,
Where wretchedness will hang its head
And joy, like a pearl,
Attends the needs of all mankind-
Of such I dream, my world!

Vision X
There in the middle of the field, by the side of a crystalline stream, I saw a bird-cage
whose rods and hinges were fashioned by an expert's hands. In one corner lay a dead
bird, and in another were two basins -- one empty of water and the other of seeds. I
stood there reverently, as if the lifeless bird and the murmur of the water were worthy
of deep silence and respect -- something worth of examination and meditation by the
heard and conscience.
As I engrossed myself in view and thought, I found that the poor creature had died of
thirst beside a stream of water, and of hunger in the midst of a rich field, cradle of life;
like a rich man locked inside his iron safe, perishing from hunger amid heaps of gold.
Before my eyes I saw the cage turned suddenly into a human skeleton, and the dead
bird into a man's heart which was bleeding from a deep wound that looked like the lips
of a sorrowing woman. A voice came from that wound saying, "I am the human heart,
prisoner of substance and victim of earthly laws.
"In God's field of Beauty, at the edge of the stream of life, I was imprisoned in the cage
of laws made by man.
"In the center of beautiful Creation I died neglected because I was kept from enjoying
the freedom of God's bounty.
"Everything of beauty that awakens my love and desire is a disgrace, according to
man's conceptions; everything of goodness that I crave is but naught, according to his
judgment.
"I am the lost human heart, imprisoned in the foul dungeon of man's dictates, tied with
chains of earthly authority, dead and forgotten by laughing humanity whose tongue is
tied and whose eyes are empty of visible tears."
All these words I heard, and I saw them emerging with a stream of ever thinning blood
from that wounded heart.
More was said, but my misted eyes and crying should prevented further sight or
hearing.

The Widow and Her Son XXI
Night fell over North Lebanon and snow was covering the villages surrounded by the
Kadeesha Valley, giving the fields and prairies the appearance of a great sheet of
parchment upon which the furious Nature was recording her many deeds. Men came
home from the streets while silence engulfed the night.
In a lone house near those villages lived a woman who sat by her fireside spinning
wool, and at her side was her only child, staring now at the fire and then at his mother.
A terrible roar of thunder shook the house and the little boy shook with fright. He threw
his arms about his mother, seeking protection from Nature in her affection. She took
him to her bosom and kissed him; then she say him on her lap and said, "Do not fear,
my son, for Nature is but comparing her great power to man's weakness. There is a
Supreme Being beyond the falling snow and the heavy clouds and the blowing wind,
and He knows the needs of the earth, for He made it; and He looks upon the weak with
merciful eyes.
"Be brave, my boy. Nature smiles in Spring and laughs in Summer and yawns in
Autumn, but now she is weeping; and with her tears she waters life, hidden under the
earth.
"Sleep, my dear child; your father is viewing us from Eternity. The snow and thunder
bring us closer to him at this time.
"Sleep, my beloved, for this white blanket which makes us cold, keeps the seeds warm,
and these war-like things will produce beautiful flowers when Nisan comes.
"Thus, my child, man cannot reap love until after sad and revealing separation, and
bitter patience, and desperate hardship. Sleep, my little boy; sweet dreams will find
your soul who is unafraid of the terrible darkness of night and the biting frost."
The little boy looked upon his mother with sleep-laden eyes and said, "Mother, my eyes
are heavy, but I cannot go to bed without saying my prayer."
The woman looked at his angelic face, her vision blurred by misted eyes, and said,
"Repeat with me, my boy - 'God, have mercy on the poor and protect them from the
winter; warm their thin-clad bodies with Thy merciful hands; look upon the orphans
who are sleeping in wretched houses, suffering from hunger and cold. Hear, oh Lord,
the call of widows who are helpless and shivering with fear for their young. Open, oh
Lord, the hearts of all humans, that they may see the misery of the weak. Have mercy
upon the sufferers who knock on doors, and lead the wayfarers into warm places.
Watch, oh Lord, over the little birds and protect the trees and fields from the anger of
the storm; for Thou art merciful and full of love.'"
As Slumber captured the boy's spirit, his mother placed him in the bed and kissed his
eyes with quivering lips. Then she went back and sat by the hearth, spinning the wool
to make him raiment.

The Playground of Life XIX
One hour devoted to the pursuit of Beauty
And Love is worth a full century of glory
Given by the frightened weak to the strong.
From that hour comes man's Truth; and
During that century Truth sleeps between
The restless arms of disturbing dreams.
In that hour the soul sees for herself
The Natural Law, and for that century she
Imprisons herself behind the law of man;
And she is shackled with irons of oppression.
That hour was the inspiration of the Songs
Of Solomon, an that century was the blind
Power which destroyed the temple of Baalbek.
That hour was the birth of the Sermon on the
Mount, and that century wrecked the castles of
Palmyra and the Tower of Babylon.
That hour was the Hegira of Mohammed and that
Century forgot Allah, Golgotha, and Sinai.
One hour devoted to mourning and lamenting the
Stolen equality of the weak is nobler than a
Century filled with greed and usurpation.
It is at that hour when the heart is
Purified by flaming sorrow and
Illuminated by the torch of Love.
And in that century, desires for Truth
Are buried in the bosom of the earth.
That hour is the root which must flourish.
That hour of meditation, the hour of
Prayer, and the hour of a new era of good.
And that century is a life of Nero spent
On self-investment taken solely from
Earthly substance.
This is life.
Portrayed on the stage for ages;


Recorded earthly for centuries;
Lived in strangeness for years;
Sung as a hymn for days;
Exalted but for an hour, but the
Hour is treasured by Eternity as a jewel.

The Farewell XXVIII
And now it was evening.
And Almitra the seeress said, "Blessed be this day and this place and your spirit that
has spoken."
And he answered, Was it I who spoke? Was I not also a listener?
Then he descended the steps of the Temple and all the people followed him. And he
reached his ship and stood upon the deck.
And facing the people again, he raised his voice and said:
People of Orphalese, the wind bids me leave you.
Less hasty am I than the wind, yet I must go.
We wanderers, ever seeking the lonelier way, begin no day where we have ended
another day; and no sunrise finds us where sunset left us.
Even while the earth sleeps we travel.
We are the seeds of the tenacious plant, and it is in our ripeness and our fullness of
heart that we are given to the wind and are scattered.
Brief were my days among you, and briefer still the words I have spoken.
But should my voice fade in your ears, and my love vanish in your memory, then I will
come again,
And with a richer heart and lips more yielding to the spirit will I speak.
Yea, I shall return with the tide,
And though death may hide me, and the greater silence enfold me, yet again will I
seek your understanding.
And not in vain will I seek.
If aught I have said is truth, that truth shall reveal itself in a clearer voice, and in
words more kin to your thoughts.
I go with the wind, people of Orphalese, but not down into emptiness;
And if this day is not a fulfillment of your needs and my love, then let it be a promise
till another day. Know therefore, that from the greater silence I shall return.
The mist that drifts away at dawn, leaving but dew in the fields, shall rise and gather
into a cloud and then fall down in rain.
And not unlike the mist have I been.
In the stillness of the night I have walked in your streets, and my spirit has entered


your houses,
And your heart-beats were in my heart, and your breath was upon my face, and I knew
you all.
Ay, I knew your joy and your pain, and in your sleep your dreams were my dreams.
And oftentimes I was among you a lake among the mountains.
I mirrored the summits in you and the bending slopes, and even the passing flocks of
your thoughts and your desires.
And to my silence came the laughter of your children in streams, and the longing of
your youths in rivers.
And when they reached my depth the streams and the rivers ceased not yet to sing.
But sweeter still than laughter and greater than longing came to me.
It was boundless in you;
The vast man in whom you are all but cells and sinews;
He in whose chant all your singing is but a soundless throbbing.
It is in the vast man that you are vast,
And in beholding him that I beheld you and loved you.
For what distances can love reach that are not in that vast sphere?
What visions, what expectations and what presumptions can outsoar that flight?
Like a giant oak tree covered with apple blossoms is the vast man in you.
His mind binds you to the earth, his fragrance lifts you into space, and in his durability
you are deathless.
You have been told that, even like a chain, you are as weak as your weakest link.
This is but half the truth. You are also as strong as your strongest link.
To measure you by your smallest deed is to reckon the power of ocean by the frailty of
its foam.
To judge you by your failures is to cast blame upon the seasons for their inconsistency.
Ay, you are like an ocean,
And though heavy-grounded ships await the tide upon your shores, yet, even like an
ocean, you cannot hasten your tides.


And like the seasons you are also,
And though in your winter you deny your spring,
Yet spring, reposing within you, smiles in her drowsiness and is not offended.
Think not I say these things in order that you may say the one to the other, "He
praised us well. He saw but the good in us."
I only speak to you in words of that which you yourselves know in thought.
And what is word knowledge but a shadow of wordless knowledge?
Your thoughts and my words are waves from a sealed memory that keeps records of
our yesterdays,
And of the ancient days when the earth knew not us nor herself,
And of nights when earth was upwrought with confusion,
Wise men have come to you to give you of their wisdom. I came to take of your
wisdom:
And behold I have found that which is greater than wisdom.
It is a flame spirit in you ever gathering more of itself,
While you, heedless of its expansion, bewail the withering of your days.
It is life in quest of life in bodies that fear the grave.
There are no graves here.
These mountains and plains are a cradle and a stepping-stone.
Whenever you pass by the field where you have laid your ancestors look well
thereupon, and you shall see yourselves and your children dancing hand in hand.
Verily you often make merry without knowing.
Others have come to you to whom for golden promises made unto your faith you have
given but riches and power and glory.
Less than a promise have I given, and yet more generous have you been to me.
You have given me deeper thirsting after life.
Surely there is no greater gift to a man than that which turns all his aims into parching
lips and all life into a fountain.
And in this lies my honour and my reward, -


That whenever I come to the fountain to drink I find the living water itself thirsty;
And it drinks me while I drink it.
Some of you have deemed me proud and over-shy to receive gifts.
To proud indeed am I to receive wages, but not gifts.
And though I have eaten berries among the hill when you would have had me sit at
your board,
And slept in the portico of the temple where you would gladly have sheltered me,
Yet was it not your loving mindfulness of my days and my nights that made food sweet
to my mouth and girdled my sleep with visions?
For this I bless you most:
You give much and know not that you give at all.
Verily the kindness that gazes upon itself in a mirror turns to stone,
And a good deed that calls itself by tender names becomes the parent to a curse.
And some of you have called me aloof, and drunk with my own aloneness,
And you have said, "He holds council with the trees of the forest, but not with men.
He sits alone on hill-tops and looks down upon our city."
True it is that I have climbed the hills and walked in remote places.
How could I have seen you save from a great height or a great distance?
How can one be indeed near unless he be far?
And others among you called unto me, not in words, and they said,
Stranger, stranger, lover of unreachable heights, why dwell you among the summits
where eagles build their nests?
Why seek you the unattainable?
What storms would you trap in your net,
And what vaporous birds do you hunt in the sky?
Come and be one of us.
Descend and appease your hunger with our bread and quench your thirst with our
wine."


In the solitude of their souls they said these things;
But were their solitude deeper they would have known that I sought but the secret of
your joy and your pain,
And I hunted only your larger selves that walk the sky.
But the hunter was also the hunted:
For many of my arrows left my bow only to seek my own breast.
And the flier was also the creeper;
For when my wings were spread in the sun their shadow upon the earth was a turtle.
And I the believer was also the doubter;
For often have I put my finger in my own wound that I might have the greater belief in
you and the greater knowledge of you.
And it is with this belief and this knowledge that I say,
You are not enclosed within your bodies, nor confined to houses or fields.
That which is you dwells above the mountain and roves with the wind.
It is not a thing that crawls into the sun for warmth or digs holes into darkness for
safety,
But a thing free, a spirit that envelops the earth and moves in the ether.
If this be vague words, then seek not to clear them.
Vague and nebulous is the beginning of all things, but not their end,
And I fain would have you remember me as a beginning.
Life, and all that lives, is conceived in the mist and not in the crystal.
And who knows but a crystal is mist in decay?
This would I have you remember in remembering me:
That which seems most feeble and bewildered in you is the strongest and most
determined.
Is it not your breath that has erected and hardened the structure of your bones?
And is it not a dream which none of you remember having dreamt that building your
city and fashioned all there is in it?


Could you but see the tides of that breath you would cease to see all else,
And if you could hear the whispering of the dream you would hear no other sound.
But you do not see, nor do you hear, and it is well.
The veil that clouds your eyes shall be lifted by the hands that wove it,
And the clay that fills your ears shall be pierced by those fingers that kneaded it.
And you shall see
And you shall hear.
Yet you shall not deplore having known blindness, nor regret having been deaf.
For in that day you shall know the hidden purposes in all things,
And you shall bless darkness as you would bless light.
After saying these things he looked about him, and he saw the pilot of his ship standing
by the helm and gazing now at the full sails and now at the distance.
And he said:
Patient, over-patient, is the captain of my ship.
The wind blows, and restless are the sails;
Even the rudder begs direction;
Yet quietly my captain awaits my silence.
And these my mariners, who have heard the choir of the greater sea, they too have
heard me patiently.
Now they shall wait no longer.
I am ready.
The stream has reached the sea, and once more the great mother holds her son
against her breast.
Fare you well, people of Orphalese.
This day has ended.
It is closing upon us even as the water-lily upon its own tomorrow.
What was given us here we shall keep,


And if it suffices not, then again must we come together and together stretch our
hands unto the giver.
Forget not that I shall come back to you.
A little while, and my longing shall gather dust and foam for another body.
A little while, a moment of rest upon the wind, and another woman shall bear me.
Farewell to you and the youth I have spent with you.
It was but yesterday we met in a dream.
You have sung to me in my aloneness, and I of your longings have built a tower in the
sky.
But now our sleep has fled and our dream is over, and it is no longer dawn.
The noontide is upon us and our half waking has turned to fuller day, and we must
part.
If in the twilight of memory we should meet once more, we shall speak again together
and you shall sing to me a deeper song.
And if our hands should meet in another dream, we shall build another tower in the
sky.
So saying he made a signal to the seamen, and straightaway they weighed anchor and
cast the ship loose from its moorings, and they moved eastward.
And a cry came from the people as from a single heart, and it rose the dusk and was
carried out over the sea like a great trumpeting.
Only Almitra was silent, gazing after the ship until it had vanished into the mist.
And when all the people were dispersed she still stood alone upon the sea-wall,
remembering in her heart his saying,
A little while, a moment of rest upon the wind, and another woman shall bear me."

The Life of Love XVI
Spring
Come, my beloved; let us walk amidst the knolls,
For the snow is water, and Life is alive from its
Slumber and is roaming the hills and valleys.
Let us follow the footprints of Spring into the
Distant fields, and mount the hilltops to draw
Inspiration high above the cool green plains.
Dawn of Spring has unfolded her winter-kept garment
And placed it on the peach and citrus trees; and
They appear as brides in the ceremonial custom of
the Night of Kedre.
The sprigs of grapevine embrace each other like
Sweethearts, and the brooks burst out in dance
Between the rocks, repeating the song of joy;
And the flowers bud suddenly from the heart of
Nature, like foam from the rich heart of the sea.
Come, my beloved; let us drink the last of Winter's
Tears from the cupped lilies, and soothe our spirits
With the shower of notes from the birds, and wander
In exhilaration through the intoxicating breeze.
Let us sit by that rock, where violets hide; let us
Pursue their exchange of the sweetness of kisses.
Summer
Let us go into the fields, my beloved, for the
Time of harvest approaches, and the sun's eyes
Are ripening the grain.
Let us tend the fruit of the earth, as the
Spirit nourishes the grains of Joy from the
Seeds of Love, sowed deep in our hearts.
Let us fill our bins with the products of
Nature, as life fills so abundantly the
Domain of our hearts with her endless bounty.
Let us make the flowers our bed, and the
Sky our blanket, and rest our heads together
Upon pillows of soft hay.
Let us relax after the day's toil, and listen
To the provoking murmur of the brook.


Autumn
Let us go and gather grapes in the vineyard
For the winepress, and keep the wine in old
Vases, as the spirit keeps Knowledge of the
Ages in eternal vessels.
Let us return to our dwelling, for the wind has
Caused the yellow leaves to fall and shroud the
Withering flowers that whisper elegy to Summer.
Come home, my eternal sweetheart, for the birds
Have made pilgrimage to warmth and lest the chilled
Prairies suffering pangs of solitude. The jasmine
And myrtle have no more tears.
Let us retreat, for the tired brook has
Ceased its song; and the bubblesome springs
Are drained of their copious weeping; and
Their cautious old hills have stored away
Their colorful garments.
Come, my beloved; Nature is justly weary
And is bidding her enthusiasm farewell
With quiet and contented melody.
Winter
Come close to me, oh companion of my full life;
Come close to me and let not Winter's touch
Enter between us. Sit by me before the hearth,
For fire is the only fruit of Winter.
Speak to me of the glory of your heart, for
That is greater than the shrieking elements
Beyond our door.
Bind the door and seal the transoms, for the
Angry countenance of the heaven depresses my
Spirit, and the face of our snow-laden fields
Makes my soul cry.
Feed the lamp with oil and let it not dim, and
Place it by you, so I can read with tears what
Your life with me has written upon your face.


Bring Autumn's wine. Let us drink and sing the
Song of remembrance to Spring's carefree sowing,
And Summer's watchful tending, and Autumn's
Reward in harvest.
Come close to me, oh beloved of my soul; the
Fire is cooling and fleeing under the ashes.
Embrace me, for I fear loneliness; the lamp is
Dim, and the wine which we pressed is closing
Our eyes. Let us look upon each other before
They are shut.
Find me with your arms and embrace me; let
Slumber then embrace our souls as one.
Kiss me, my beloved, for Winter has stolen
All but our moving lips.
You are close by me, My Forever.
How deep and wide will be the ocean of Slumber,
And how recent was the dawn!

The Creation I
The God separated a spirit from Himself and fashioned it into Beauty. He showered
upon her all the blessings of gracefulness and kindness. He gave her the cup of
happiness and said, "Drink not from this cup unless you forget the past and the future,
for happiness is naught but the moment." And He also gave her a cup of sorrow and
said, "Drink from this cup and you will understand the meaning of the fleeting instants
of the joy of life, for sorrow ever abounds."
And the God bestowed upon her a love that would desert he forever upon her first sigh
of earthly satisfaction, and a sweetness that would vanish with her first awareness of
flattery.
And He gave her wisdom from heaven to lead to the all-righteous path, and placed in
the depth of her heart and eye that sees the unseen, and created in he an affection
and goodness toward all things. He dressed her with raiment of hopes spun by the
angels of heaven from the sinews of the rainbow. And He cloaked her in the shadow of
confusion, which is the dawn of life and light.
Then the God took consuming fire from the furnace of anger, and searing wind from
the desert of ignorance, and sharp- cutting sands from the shore of selfishness, and
coarse earth from under the feet of ages, and combined them all and fashioned Man.
He gave to Man a blind power that rages and drives him into a madness which
extinguishes only before gratification of desire, and placed life in him which is the
specter of death.
And the god laughed and cried. He felt an overwhelming love and pity for Man, and
sheltered him beneath His guidance.

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.

Song of the Soul XXII
In the depth of my soul there is
A wordless song - a song that lives
In the seed of my heart.
It refuses to melt with ink on
Parchment; it engulfs my affection
In a transparent cloak and flows,
But not upon my lips.
How can I sigh it? I fear it may
Mingle with earthly ether;
To whom shall I sing it? It dwells
In the house of my soul, in fear of
Harsh ears.
When I look into my inner eyes
I see the shadow of its shadow;
When I touch my fingertips
I feel its vibrations.
The deeds of my hands heed its
Presence as a lake must reflect
The glittering stars; my tears
Reveal it, as bright drops of dew
Reveal the secret of a withering rose.
It is a song composed by contemplation,
And published by silence,
And shunned by clamor,
And folded by truth,
And repeated by dreams,
And understood by love,
And hidden by awakening,
And sung by the soul.
It is the song of love;
What Cain or Esau could sing it?
It is more fragrant than jasmine;
What voice could enslave it?
It is heartbound, as a virgin's secret;
What string could quiver it?
Who dares unite the roar of the sea


And the singing of the nightingale?
Who dares compare the shrieking tempest
To the sigh of an infant?
Who dares speak aloud the words
Intended for the heart to speak?
What human dares sing in voice
The song of God?

Talking XX
And then a scholar said, "Speak of Talking."
And he answered, saying:
You talk when you cease to be at peace with your thoughts;
And when you can no longer dwell in the solitude of your heart you live in your lips,
and sound is a diversion and a pastime.
And in much of your talking, thinking is half murdered.
For thought is a bird of space, that in a cage of words many indeed unfold its wings but
cannot fly.
There are those among you who seek the talkative through fear of being alone.
The silence of aloneness reveals to their eyes their naked selves and they would
escape.
And there are those who talk, and without knowledge or forethought reveal a truth
which they themselves do not understand.
And there are those who have the truth within them, but they tell it not in words.
In the bosom of such as these the spirit dwells in rhythmic silence.
When you meet your friend on the roadside or in the market place, let the spirit in you
move your lips and direct your tongue.
Let the voice within your voice speak to the ear of his ear;
For his soul will keep the truth of your heart as the taste of the wine is remembered
When the color is forgotten and the vessel is no more.

Reason and Passion XV
And the priestess spoke again and said: "Speak to us of Reason and Passion."
And he answered saying:
Your soul is oftentimes a battlefield, upon which your reason and your judgment wage
war against passion and your appetite.
Would that I could be the peacemaker in your soul, that I might turn the discord and
the rivalry of your elements into oneness and melody.
But how shall I, unless you yourselves be also the peacemakers, nay, the lovers of all
your elements?
Your reason and your passion are the rudder and the sails of your seafaring soul.
If either your sails or our rudder be broken, you can but toss and drift, or else be held
at a standstill in mid-seas.
For reason, ruling alone, is a force confining; and passion, unattended, is a flame that
burns to its own destruction.
Therefore let your soul exalt your reason to the height of passion; that it may sing;
And let it direct your passion with reason, that your passion may live through its own
daily resurrection, and like the phoenix rise above its own ashes.
I would have you consider your judgment and your appetite even as you would two
loved guests in your house.
Surely you would not honour one guest above the other; for he who is more mindful of
one loses the love and the faith of both.
Among the hills, when you sit in the cool shade of the white poplars, sharing the peace
and serenity of distant fields and meadows - then let your heart say in silence, "God
rests in reason."
And when the storm comes, and the mighty wind shakes the forest, and thunder and
lightning proclaim the majesty of the sky, - then let your heart say in awe, "God moves
in passion."
And since you are a breath In God's sphere, and a leaf in God's forest, you too should
rest in reason and move in passion.

Self-Knowledge XVII
And a man said, "Speak to us of Self-Knowledge."
And he answered, saying:
Your hearts know in silence the secrets of the days and the nights.
But your ears thirst for the sound of your heart's knowledge.
You would know in words that which you have always know in thought.
You would touch with your fingers the naked body of your dreams.
And it is well you should.
The hidden well-spring of your soul must needs rise and run murmuring to the sea;
And the treasure of your infinite depths would be revealed to your eyes.
But let there be no scales to weigh your unknown treasure;
And seek not the depths of your knowledge with staff or sounding line.
For self is a sea boundless and measureless.
Say not, "I have found the truth," but rather, "I have found a truth."
Say not, "I have found the path of the soul." Say rather, "I have met the soul walking
upon my path."
For the soul walks upon all paths.
The soul walks not upon a line, neither does it grow like a reed.
The soul unfolds itself, like a lotus of countless petals.

Crime and Punishment chapter XII
Then one of the judges of the city stood forth and said, "Speak to us of Crime and
Punishment."
And he answered saying:
It is when your spirit goes wandering upon the wind,
That you, alone and unguarded, commit a wrong unto others and therefore unto
yourself.
And for that wrong committed must you knock and wait a while unheeded at the gate
of the blessed.
Like the ocean is your god-self;
It remains for ever undefiled.
And like the ether it lifts but the winged.
Even like the sun is your god-self;
It knows not the ways of the mole nor seeks it the holes of the serpent.
But your god-self does not dwell alone in your being.
Much in you is still man, and much in you is not yet man,
But a shapeless pigmy that walks asleep in the mist searching for its own awakening.
And of the man in you would I now speak.
For it is he and not your god-self nor the pigmy in the mist, that knows crime and the
punishment of crime.
Oftentimes have I heard you speak of one who commits a wrong as though he were
not one of you, but a stranger unto you and an intruder upon your world.
But I say that even as the holy and the righteous cannot rise beyond the highest which
is in each one of you,
So the wicked and the weak cannot fall lower than the lowest which is in you also.
And as a single leaf turns not yellow but with the silent knowledge of the whole tree,
So the wrong-doer cannot do wrong without the hidden will of you all.
Like a procession you walk together towards your god-self.
You are the way and the wayfarers.
And when one of you falls down he falls for those behind him, a caution against the
stumbling stone.


Ay, and he falls for those ahead of him, who though faster and surer of foot, yet
removed not the stumbling stone.
And this also, though the word lie heavy upon your hearts:
The murdered is not unaccountable for his own murder,
And the robbed is not blameless in being robbed.
The righteous is not innocent of the deeds of the wicked,
And the white-handed is not clean in the doings of the felon.
Yea, the guilty is oftentimes the victim of the injured,
And still more often the condemned is the burden-bearer for the guiltless and
unblamed.
You cannot separate the just from the unjust and the good from the wicked;
For they stand together before the face of the sun even as the black thread and the
white are woven together.
And when the black thread breaks, the weaver shall look into the whole cloth, and he
shall examine the loom also.
If any of you would bring judgment the unfaithful wife,
Let him also weight the heart of her husband in scales, and measure his soul with
measurements.
And let him who would lash the offender look unto the spirit of the offended.
And if any of you would punish in the name of righteousness and lay the ax unto the
evil tree, let him see to its roots;
And verily he will find the roots of the good and the bad, the fruitful and the fruitless,
all entwined together in the silent heart of the earth.
And you judges who would be just,
What judgment pronounce you upon him who though honest in the flesh yet is a thief
in spirit?
What penalty lay you upon him who slays in the flesh yet is himself slain in the spirit?
And how prosecute you him who in action is a deceiver and an oppressor,
Yet who also is aggrieved and outraged?
And how shall you punish those whose remorse is already greater than their misdeeds?


Is not remorse the justice which is administered by that very law which you would fain
serve?
Yet you cannot lay remorse upon the innocent nor lift it from the heart of the guilty.
Unbidden shall it call in the night, that men may wake and gaze upon themselves.
And you who would understand justice, how shall you unless you look upon all deeds in
the fullness of light?
Only then shall you know that the erect and the fallen are but one man standing in
twilight between the night of his pigmy-self and the day of his god-self,
And that the corner-stone of the temple is not higher than the lowest stone in its
foundation.

Beauty XXV
And a poet said, "Speak to us of Beauty."
Where shall you seek beauty, and how shall you find her unless she herself be your
way and your guide?
And how shall you speak of her except she be the weaver of your speech?
The aggrieved and the injured say, "Beauty is kind and gentle.
Like a young mother half-shy of her own glory she walks among us."
And the passionate say, "Nay, beauty is a thing of might and dread.
Like the tempest she shakes the earth beneath us and the sky above us."
The tired and the weary say, "beauty is of soft whisperings. She speaks in our spirit.
Her voice yields to our silences like a faint light that quivers in fear of the shadow."
But the restless say, "We have heard her shouting among the mountains,
And with her cries came the sound of hoofs, and the beating of wings and the roaring
of lions."
At night the watchmen of the city say, "Beauty shall rise with the dawn from the east."
And at noontide the toilers and the wayfarers say, "we have seen her leaning over the
earth from the windows of the sunset."
In winter say the snow-bound, "She shall come with the spring leaping upon the hills."
And in the summer heat the reapers say, "We have seen her dancing with the autumn
leaves, and we saw a drift of snow in her hair."
All these things have you said of beauty.
Yet in truth you spoke not of her but of needs unsatisfied,
And beauty is not a need but an ecstasy.
It is not a mouth thirsting nor an empty hand stretched forth,
But rather a heart enflamed and a soul enchanted.
It is not the image you would see nor the song you would hear,
But rather an image you see though you close your eyes and a song you hear though
you shut your ears.
It is not the sap within the furrowed bark, nor a wing attached to a claw,
But rather a garden forever in bloom and a flock of angels for ever in flight.


People of Orphalese, beauty is life when life unveils her holy face.
But you are life and you are the veil.
Beauty is eternity gazing at itself in a mirror.
But you are eternity and you are the mirror.

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!

You Burn Me in the Sorrow's Fire

However intensely you burn me in sorrow's fire.
If l am constantly burnt my heart will get purified and I will get closer to you.
After the drought shall I come the rain and


my heart will get touched by your kindness.

The drought will not remain and the dry tree
will again smile with flowers.
Once I've got your forehead's fire,
you beautiful one

I am sure to get the caressing Ganges' touch
the cool moon's feel.

Oh beneficent one! You remind me time and again
with the shock of a blow
You have thought of me again after all these days.

[Original: Tumi jotoi doho na; Translation: Abu Rushd]

Sail your smile into the air; it will reach and enliven me!
Breathe your fragrance into the air; it will sustain me!
Where are you, me beloved?
Oh, how great is Love!
And how little am I!

You are always in my thoughts

You are always in my thoughts, oh my Lord.
I vainly look for you outside my heart.
You dwell inside me like life like the soul
You laugh while I erect a temple and install an Idol there
Like the wind, like light you permeate the world
Like the perfume ofa flower you encompass one's Being.
You are mercurial you are formless
I constantly see the miracle you unveil.
I am a partner day and night in your hide and seek Game.


[Original: Antore tumi acho chirodin; Translation: Abu Rushd]

You Are So Handsome

You are so handsome that I can't take my eye off you,

is that my crime?
The bird that cries beholding the moon doesn't bother the moon.
I watch the flower's gradual unfolding, but the flower

doesn't mind
Nor does the cloud when the admiring bird circles round it.
The sun-flower knows it will never get the sun, and yet

undismay'd
It watches its sovereign, it is content just watching
I've got the gift of vision so that I may see you,

you beautiful being
Let this wish of mine be realized, my dearest one.

[Original: Tumi shundor tai cheye thaki; Translation: Abu Rushd]

The Worshipper

After all, at this late hour,
Beloved!

Like a whirlwind blind with dust
Day and Night
When I

Dance about in a blood-red Death-game
At long last, at this eleventh hour
It is revealed to me that! know thee through

all Eternity.
Worshipper!

Thy voice, thy tune shaming the dove,
Thy eye, thy face,
Thy eye-brow, forehead, cheek,

Thy beauty that knows no equal,

Thy wanton ear-ring swinging to and fro
in dance surpassing a swan
I know, I know all!
Hence, after all, I

Standing on the one, weary, hopeless

and dreary beach of life
From the depths of my fainting heart
Cry for thee and thee alone,

Beloved!

Calling by the sweetest name which is constantly
on my lips as a sacred name on the rosary.
I weep with it -

In my broken voice do I cry, I know thee,
I do, do, do know,
Thou art not one with laurels of victory - nor
art thou a beggar-maid,
Thou art virgin nymph, daughter of an

eremite, thou art my eternal worshipper!
Through ages, thou hast loved this hard-hearted one,
Burning thy own self, thou hast kindled light

in my breast,
Many a time thou hast made me a debtor
to thy worship.
I know thee, Beloved, I do, do, do know through
Eternity.

I oft recognize thee in the sun-set
of life, at the hour of death,
Then after recognition

Thou dost go elsewhere.
Leaving me on the lone, deserted

Farewell-raft.
Sitting at the end of the day, bathed in tears,
I recall her far-off, distant memory
I remember the sad, silent welcome night

of mine that came at the close of spring
When my eyes feasted upon thine and were blessed,

Till then a simple, happy boy - my


youth did not put forth blossoms,
Like approaching, aching, eager Dawn
Half-asleep, half-awake was my boyhood,
My rosy nights went blooming

Free of all barriers, ,
Like a whirlwind spontaneously moving
Or the speed of fiery lyrics, or

laughter that knows no end

A wandering traveller from far afar,
I took thee
And along with thee

Came tearful eyes and pangs of homeless forlorn

heart-
Thou didst come at night, at peep of Dawn,
I sang 'Awake, Beloved, Awake! '
Thou didst rise from sleep, thou didst come to me,
And looking at my face didst smile a

melancholy smile -
At thy smile I wept - whose tame bird distressed
art thou, now deprived of thy forest
home?

O the message of thine eyes! methought
That voice, that tune of mine
Laden with sadness of separation,
And reverberating in the forest,
Which invites the south wind, causes

the flower to blossom and charms the wild doe,
Thou hast known all of myself since the dawn of
creation!

Then, that midnight I did sing
plaintive notes choked with tears of that
unhonoured send-off and wounded feelings.

I did not know whom by the incantation of a song
I wanted then to imprison in my
ever-desolate forlorn heart
Only this I do know that the shade of
thy love-enkindled eyes untimely roused from sleep

Fell upon my eyes.
I saw, too, in the expression of those eyes,
A flood of light mixed with surprise and delight,
A flow of fascination born of profound pain,
With silent sympathy was trembling the love-lorn heart

In the likeness of the dark night
To my thirsty eyes was expectantly welcome,
Worshipper! that sweet, tender light

kindled in the lamp of thy eyes!
Then, at the close of singing .
With a smile I think I called thee near, by the

name
Suddenly didst thon storm with a pent up
feeling of self-respect offended
(Who knoweth why) .


Like a canoe trembled thy serene eyes
Secured with eye brows,
The swelling water through the mouth


of the fount of agony
Fell in torrents!


Such flood of tears gushing out of thy
depths on a little caress
Where didst thou get, O Neglected!
my wandering Beloved?
Tell me, O tell!
On this broken bosom,

Pillow thy bright face bathed in tears
With a thrill of bashful joy
And tell me, a tell!

Why seeing me art thou overwhelmed with
an undefined feeling?
Why at my call such abundance of tears

overflows thy eyes?
An unknown vagrant wayfarer am I,
Seeing me why tears start to thy

virgin eyes serene?
Others laugh at me;
A happy, secure nest is burnt at .
the very touch of my accursed hot breath,
Taking it to be a jewel some people
wear it as a garland,
But when it turns to be a venomous serpent

And bites them in the breast,
Forthwith they trample it under foot!
With one who is disliked, hated and

disregarded by the world,
Forlorn Beloved! Why dost thou
play this sad game
For one why this secret sensibility?

On what right
The mere calling by name doth cause pain to thee?
Art thou loved by nobody? Art thou

tenderly taken by nobody? Art thou
tenderly taken by none?
From birth art thou neglected as

a Beggar maid? And for that
Such abundant flow of tears and
Such offended spirit exciting compassion?

No, not even that
In a forlorn voice while resting on the breast
Who doth in forlorn sensitiveness Say

'No, not even that'!
I saw hundreds come to this house,
Many of their own accord take thee on their breast,
Still yet in thy eyes and face is writ

large a deep discontent and a profound


Pining for love!
Why at my sight doth so much nectar

of love overflow thy breast?
O Mystry! My Queen!
Nobody doth know
Thou knowest not
Nor do I know.


Love alone knoweth, heart alone doth feel
From whence cometh such poignancy of
Spontaneous attraction of heart to heart.
Even without understanding it, I understood
That day, O unknown! that thou

art eternally know to me, thou my

neglected Sita in every successive birth!
Thou hermit's daughter deserting thy forest home,
Eternal virginity; thy tray of offerings to Gods
I broke in every age, thy garland I tore
In mere sport; ever-silent, ever languishing

under a curse, O heavenly damsel!
In silence didst thou suffer
O thou Simple! Simply hast thou
Known thou art my-Queen of

Victory, myself thy Poet.
Then, towards the end of night

Sitting by thy side
I heard thy melodious song,
Half-interrupted by bashfulness,

tremblingly pathetic
Oft the voice reminded me
Of some dim, half-remembered,

half-forgotten, long-lost thing,
Singing in choked voice 'O thou'!
When krishna went to Mathura and forgot

his beloved Radhika,
Methink, she wept out her forlorn

heart singing such sweetest saddest song.
With a breast afflicted by neglect,
it was much like Lalita's lamentation

in secret hour!
Perhaps in lonely forest, alone, wandering,
Damayanti sang in such tired voice
Calling her husband woo was left behind!
Perhaps sad sakuntala remembering her husband
Wept with the forest creepers singing

in such tune, in secret leafy nook!
Perhaps on the peak of the Hem-giri mountain
The long-lost Sati in the person of Uma
Addressed Bholanath in such ever known voice!
Wept she, ever-faithful, beloved of her

husband, to get again her eternal lover!
I see and understand everything,
My youth did not awake, so thy fair face


made no deep impress on my inward eye;
Yet in thy familiar voice my own
I left and went afar in some unremembered

moment along a nameless village path
Scarcely a day or two passed when

on the bank of the same holy Gomati
My heart ached for the first time and a
Strange, fragrant pain I felt in

the lotus of my navel region.
I wandered to-and fro in search of
the source of this pain-laden smell of wine
At the mere touch of my hot, heavy

sighs, trembled the sky, air and earth,
Bewailed leaves and creepers,
Flowers and birds and rivers,.
Bewailed clouds and winds and all,
And bewailed in the breast in fierce

pleasure the insatiate divinity awakened

by youth's tyranny: .
Wretched as I was, I knew not whom I wanted,
So I cried hoarse, 'Where should .

I go, where may I find my Beloved? '
My heart feels a burning passion,
my mind runs riot,
Methink, it is the sad lamentation
of a lover under the load of eternal youth!
Visions float in quick success on

before the eyes of many a color,
red, blue, pink
From whose breast

To my heart of hearts
Doth come and why this painful ecstasy
redolent of musk?

My mind like the musk deer runs a-field.
the air trembles with fear engendered by
my frantic wailings! .
Like the musk of deer

My mind blind with scent roams in
Search of the odour of my own navel!
Mine own love

By drinking itself wants to appease
its own thirst!

My youth under an eternal thirst for
the whole world of love
After emptying an ocean like a drop

longs for another!
Good Heaven! What thirst eternal,

illimitable is this!
Where is contentment? O where?
Where is the Eternal Ocean of Love that

can appease my thirst?
More self-willed, tyrannical, and irresistible than I


Where might I find her
In absence of whom I know no peace
in this wide world!
Thinking like this I go abroad, I only

walk my way,
And meet many a girl on the path,
After them, alas! runs with blind impetuosity
My mind hungering for Love,
If one of them looks back, my
offended sentiment brings a flood

of tears to my eyes!
They laugh at my predicament, .
Some one ignores me, some one

approaches with an offer of favour!
It doth aggravate my grief,
With the deep naked agony of a wretched one,
Like the loud roar of the ocean of

universal cataclysm
Under pain and wounded self-respect
. doth swell in fierce volume
The flame of my heart agitated with distress!
A street girl doth offer favour!
Under my foot I smash her vanity .

with her presumptuous offer!
In tears she goes back, afraid of coming near;
Like Anath Pindada, disciple of Buddha,
My mendicant heart
Hegs from door to door no common alms
For my love-Buddha,
Give me alms, O citizens!
I beg for Buddha, see my master

goes back hungry from the door!
Many came, many went away, .
Some in fright, some in surprise,
Some with a broken heart,
Some bathed in tears
Thus many a nymph came and went,
I beseech complete surrender,
But it is not understood by the happy damsels

of the city
They carne with a smile,
Then at the end of the smile

In tears they go back

To the shady nook of their living home
They say, 'O way-farer! Tell us, O tell
What Treasure doth thy heart hanker after? .
Why is this pathos in thy voice, for whom

is there so much hunger in 'thy breast? '
No body understands what I want
Some 'rings mind and heart, some brings

Youth and wealth,
While a third offers beauty and body.


A proud princess maddened by her riches

Wants to imprison me in the trap of her
beauty and youth...
All in vain! Loaded with despondency ,
my heart goes abroad


As a vagrant warbler
Singing 'where is my love-loran Beloved
my worshipper, Oh, where? '

She who will say, 'I have turned
an anchorite for the sake of love,
O thou my Lord! '

Forlorn am I and not

thy pride and glory
In vain I roam in the wilderness
My thirst rages fiercely
In such moments my thirst-stricken heart
Loses itself for a moment
At a distant, unknown beckoning with the hand
As if she were weeping aloud-,
Saying 'My Love, I am thy heart's wandering maid,

I know thee
Thou, too, knowest me!
I knew not, it was a she-devil,
It was but an illusion,
No water, but a snare, it was a
deceptive image of a lake in the desert! '
'I am at thy mercy', so saying I

called at her door,
Alas, where was she? Verily it was a witch
Alluring me to my doom!
It was a cruel Fowler's net,
It was a device to win the grace

. of a Beggar's bowel,
No, the trap did defeat itself, .
Entangled in her own snare was

finished the witch
To thy door came I with my heart
bleeding from thorns,
Knew not, even then, thou didst feel

a keen sympathy for my afflictions.
Yet from time to time it struck me
that thy sweet, balmy touch could efface

All my bums and pangs,
That to my heart spoke thy heart ever in tears

O way-farer! Give me those thorns;
Where do they prick thee,
Tell mc, pray!

Thou art a silent eremite, keeping in

thy lone privacy,
Hence thy speechless message
I seldom minded, and little understood


that and thy little reserved bosom
There was so much room for love and hope.
Meanwhile I knew not from where

came my mother floating as it were
like a free stream,
In that stormy night.


She took me in her lap, printed a

thousand kisses on my eyes bathed in tears.
The thoroughfare vanished
The chariot disappeared
Drowned was all sorrow and pain,


A mother's love illumined my dilapidate
temple like the festival of Dewali!
My past history like the previous birth
I seemed to forget on getting back

my lost Mother!
A homeless one was restored to his

home, in tranquil happiness and felicity.
After many an age as it were, I slept a
deep sleep pillowed on my Mother's breast.
There was an end of vagrant minstrelsy,
Disappeared in a piteous
lone my companion the tempestuous wind.

0 0 0

Again, again was I benighted
Perhaps at the door of some all-conquering

nymph, Arjun's chariot came to a stand-still.
I forgot the object of my peregrination,
I forgot. my heart had been eternally wandering
and longing for my Beloved, Beloved and Beloved

alone.
I forgot every bit of pain and grief,
The flood of new felicity melted my heart,
And over-flowed my tearless eyes.
It seemed as it were in some lotus of

beauty were imprisoned my eyes,
Its fragrance enraptured my bosom,
And a thrill danced through
some sweetest, saddest sensation.
Life regained and forfeited again
The greedy bird pierced by an arrow
Besmeared with blood the altar of my temple
It could not wake up the stone-image,
Being thus disgraced, I leapt up like a

forest conflagration.
My poignant, blood-red griefs raised their heads,
With a thundering voice I rushed forth

on the blood-horse of Rebellion,
Against the Original Cause of my
Sorrow the Creator - across the clouds of the sky


Holding aloft the meteor flag of Destruction,
Kindling the sacrificial fire of animosity

and creating terror in a barren dreary desert!
What illusion is this! At intervals
Methought I heard a distant melody

of thy flute singing my name, Dear!
Peering into that far-off privacy
My eyes red with enmity became
Softened with tears of silent Sympathy.
Remembering that melody, remembering that call

discarded all my grief
I threw my grief into oblivion,
I do realize, thou art real-thou dost exist,
Neglected by me, thou dost still desire me,

heart and soul,
Alone, wood-nymph,
Thou art wreathing a garland for me

All by thyself,
In bashful privacy.
Thou art my wandering maid, my Queen,
Whom I wood in all my previous births!
The ocean of fire in me becomes a flower

in bloom and says with a smile
'I know, I know'.
Let life return to my dead soul.
From a-far am I summoned by her,
Without whom I know no peace and joy
in the wide world.

But hearken!
Who wails and laments like that?
Some body must have cried from behind
'Friend, thou art behind time' Poor fellow,

it is too late!
I didn't listen, I didn't mind obstruction,
To me alone came floating as it were
across the barriers of the previous
Birth the sad wailings of a forsaken Lalita.
I came running to thee

Breathlessly,
Martyrdom, the chariot of fire, all went
a-begging, the blood-red flag cried'

in the wilderness,
I indulged in a world of luxury and felicity
in secretly worshipping thee in my bosom.
To narrate the sequel I lack language today,
Today I have no heart, no tears, no strength,

no hope.
What I say today is no song, it is but
a blood-red message of a bleeding
heart embalmed in tears.

Yet keep this little bit in mind, Dear,


that from door to door
Baffled I returned
And came to thee for thyself as the Summumbonum.
of my life,
In return for the whole world of my hope and
love and affection.
I worshipped thee, O my unkind Beloved.
thou worshipper!
Methought thou wouldst smilingly take

charge of one who was too wild for the world.
Thou wouldst tame the rebel of the universe
Quite easily by dint of love alone.
Methought for the glory of conquering the
unruly and unconquerable
the heart would be illumined with an

uncommon lustre, and then one day
Thou wouldst infuse celestial fire

into my arms
And become the embodied victory of this Rebel.
I harboured a hope, I had power, too,

to tear asunder the universe
And place the same under thy rosy feet
as a culled red lotus for an offering
But alas! Where art that 'thou'? Where
is that heart?
Where's that inalienable bond of attachment

between two hearts?
This 'thou' of today art not that 'thou' to be sure;
Today I find thou too art deceitful,
Thou too clammiest to be victorious by

means of falsehood!
Thou dost want to give me something,

retaining the remainder for another,
Unfortunate woman! I laugh out my soul!
Whom dost thou want to deceive?
In my bosom is ever awake the true Divinity,
His eyes are penetrating, they can see

into the heart of things,
And most minutely search its inmost recesses.
Infidelity fouls thy offering today, Dear,
Today thou dost try to deceive him
Whom one day didst thou give all thy heart and soul.
Thus I ponder, whose fault it was
That in thy spotless heart
Was kindled this death-provoking light
Yet I wonder is it true?

Thou too, a deceiving self?
If it were so, then O witch!
Let it be true, O wicked one!
Let full light show thy false world in bold relief.
Myself, thyself, the sun, moon, stars,

Let all be false,


Then, then, O alluring Phantom,
Give to thy contrived world a false gleam
As I look at thy face today,
Shame strikes me like a thunderbolt
As I remember how didst thou disregard

and neglect me, I do remember my shameless ness, too
Today I die before my death,
I feel, I must cry aloud, 'Open thy womb, Mother

Earth!

And take into darkness thy neglected.
and dust-covered son from the light
of the day that throws his shame into

prominence
Yet many a time I came with hope
But alas! whenever I look at that face
Ah me! where's that worshipping damsel,

Where's that forlorn anchorite?

The same accustomed disregard I see,
And the same face devoid of expression.
There's no love lost, but a game

. to ride rough-shod over a heart
My bosom bursts under the load of disgrace!
Alas! What cruel game is this, between hearts!
These girls tread a bleeding rosy breast
Under their feet which seem dyed with lace.
They claim to be goddesses, they are greedy

and want to usurp the worship of all!
For them is not the single-minded devotion
of a lover, nor the complete surrender
of a worshipper
Hence, in the name of true devotion,
their timid heart is so awfully frightened,
Frailty, thy name is Woman! She does
Not like to nestle round one bosom.
She is a goddess, she is greedy, the
more she is worshipped, the more she
wants worshippers.
Her voracious mind

Is not gratified with one, one is
not sufficient for her,
She seeks many

My creator-Lord received from me not such
worship as was offered to her, yet she
deceived me!
I do realize, in the end, that there comes
encircling darkness as deep as death
as my companion,
So my forlorn heart out of the agony
of bitter pleasure thunders out:
Why then, O my mind, for whom shouldst
thou go lamenting abroad?


Blaze forth now, burning like the
terrible eyes of the god of Destruction,

Clap thy hands striking terror! Fan
the bloody flames of the eternal fire
of thy Rebellion!

Let the fiery Chariot beat thy
all-destroying trumpet!
Hurl thy battle-axe and trident!
Storm this citadel of Falsehood!
Bring poison made of blood and .
nectar, seize death by the throat!
Let this false world under thy accursed
heavy agonizing wheel be crushed to powder.

In my throat there's today so much venom;
so much wrath
Yet, Nymph!
At intervals I recall

I did not love thee
Till I saw thy light red with passion
and embosomed in thy breast,
Thou hadst all the time
Sought my love and played the
Begga-maid at my door,

Till then a small neglect resulting in thy
outraged feelings of rebellion would
have caused a flood of tears to
arise in thine eyes, and agonized

thy soft and sweet heart.
For a small bit of affection, for a tiny caress
Thou didst many a night and many

a day keep by my side on sleepless pillow
I did not vouchsafe to look at thee.
Is this, then, by way of revenge? .
After conquering me by means of falsehood.
Thou hast heaped disgrace and deceit

upon my head and stopped my breath.
Today I wail from the lap of death
O Heartless! What false cruel game

is this with regard to a heart?
After a world of love, how canst
thou hurl so much disregard,

O women?
Such a blow is man's job,
I knew, we, men, alone could inflict such injuries
Methought, the gift of a spotless fair Nymph
Finds itself in a single delicious
Moment irrevocably in the bosom of her lover,
And thus she loses her separate entity.

for all Eternity,

It is a vain belief!
Zephyr only makes the flower blossom,
The honey-making bee comes and deflowers it


The former is a type of chivalry;
Love and not the body of the beloved
. is all-in-all to him!

The latter goes by Aromatic and knows
how to ravish the blooming tender
heart of the flower

Myself, the sound Wind a traveler
the end of at spring I depart
For that deathless undiscovered country'
.. of Eternal Night!
On this even of departure my eyes are

filled with tears of joy.
As I feel how happy am I today.
Thou hadst loved me before I loved thee
The soft crimson light of thy maiden heart
From kissed my breast and Jace.
From recollections today of that ardent

happiness a deluge of sensations sweet
inundates the broken heart of this hungry one!
Remembering that love and felicity of

those golden days
I feel my life is full - I sink in the

grave contented and blessed
Unsolicited, thou alone didst love me.
In happy remembrance of that piece of joy,
I with my death-black lips

print now a thousand full kisses upon thy
dear name!

Remembering me,
If one night, Dear,
While in sleep pillowed upon one's breast
Thou dost feel a pain in thy bosom without cause,
Take it that dear and gone the impediment!
None else shall come back
In wild ecstasy to kiss thy lotus-feet
Dead is he- the self-willed, discontented


ever-selfish, greedy
But he is immortal - thy love hath

bestowed immortality upon the poet
Who like the deathless Nilkantha hath
Swallowed the ocean of pain.

[Translation: Abdul Hakim] .

The Thorn of the Lotus

In my lotus-lake there remains only the

thorn of the lotus.
When did arise the tremendous noise,
Who did tear off the red lotus of my

bosom?
the lake from time to time maketh
the queries.
Why goeth not the thorn along with
the lotus?
I am now constantly covered with the cures

only of the bathing Nymph.
Will the wandering girls ever come to me?
Ever wear a garland made of my

lotus thread?
Will the pain of my thorn ever remain
only in my mind?
If the flower is gone, who will ever
entwine her bangle with the lotus-thorn?

[Translation: Abdul Hakim]