You have made me known to friends
not known earlier, and given me seats
in homes not my own, bringing the distant
near and making a brother of a stranger.
Yet, I am edgy at heart to leave the familiar
shelter due to my forgetting that the old
abides in the new, and the new was there
in the old, and you will never desert me.
Through birth and death, in this world
or in other, wherever you lead me, it is you
the same, the one companion of my endless life
linking the unfamiliar with a heart filled with joy.
When I know you, then, none I call alien
or, with that gen, I find, no door is ever shut;
grant me ever, therefore, the bliss that comes
from the touch of that one in the play of many.
Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 63
Henry Victor 25.10.2012
An inclination for virtuous living, joy, wealth
including fame, with the final home come
from you, my ultimate mother and father
with the power to give, or withhold these gifts.
But my tears are mine, and mine alone that I bring
to you as my gift, a chain of pearls for your neck,
to hang on your chest as the stars have placed anklets
of light to your feet, and you reward me with your grace.
Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 83
Henry Victor 24.10.2012
The children, with shouts and dances
meet on the seashore of endless worlds
beside waters so boisterous and restless
with motionless infinite sky overhead.
They build their houses with sand, playing
with empty shells, weaving their boats
with withered leaves and smilingly float
on the vast deep to continue their play.
These children know not how to swim, or cast nets
while pearl fishers dive for pearls, and merchants
sail in ships as children gather pebbles to scatter
for these little ones seek not to hoard treasures.
The sea surges with laughter and the sea beach smiles
with shining light while the death-dealing waves sing
meaningless lullabies to children as a mother rocking
her baby's cradle even as the sea plays with children.
And storms roam in the pathless sky while ships
get wrecked in the trackless water, with death
abroad children continue to play on the seashore
of endless worlds, a great meeting of children.
Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 60
(This poem is also Tagore’s Crescent Moon, poem 2)
Henry Victor 22.10.2012
When the creation was new and the stars
shone their first light, the splendour, gods
held their assembly in the sky, to sing: ‘Oh
the picture-perfection, what flawless joy!’
But suddenly one cried: ‘Somewhere
there is a break in the chain of light
and one of the stars
surely, has been lost!'
Now the golden string of the stars’ harp
snapped and their song stopped, in dismay
the stars cried: ‘Yes, that the lost star
was the best, the glory of all heavens!'
From that day the search for the best
is unceasing and the cry goes on from one
to the other that in the lost star
the world has lost its joy.
Only in the deepest perception, silence
of night the stars smile and whisper
among themselves: ‘Vain is this seeking
there is, always, the unbroken perfection!’
Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 78
Henry Victor 19.10.2012
O my glorious sun!
Am I not a remnant cloud of autumn
roaming, uselessly, in the sky
without your touch to melt my vapour,
and to make me one with your light
instead of my counting months and years
separated from you
as if this is your wish and your play?
If it is, then take my fleeting barrenness
and paint me with colours, gilding with gold
and make me float on the nasty wind
that I may spread some varied wonders,
and when it is your wish to end this play
in the night, I shall melt to vanish in dark
or, I may smile as the white morning
in the coolness of a transparent purity.
Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 80
Henry Victor 17.10.2012
When a day is spent on lazing, normally
I grieve over lost time knowing not
with you nothing is ever lost but your hands
take them into your bosom to hide.
Hidden in your heart with other stuff
you nourish those seeds into sprouts
later to flourish into buds and blossoms
and evolving flowers into fruits.
All this happens as I lay my tired limbs
sleeping on my idle bed imagining my work
now is ceased, but only to wake in the morning
to find my garden filled with magical flowers.
Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 81
Henry Victor 17.10.2012
Lord of all worlds, O Lord of my life
daily with folded hands
I will stand before you
face to face.
Under your wide sky in solitude and silence
with overflowing humility in heart
I will stand before you
face to face.
In this world with your work so wild
with toil and struggle among haste crowd
I will stand before you
face to face.
And when my work is done
in this world, alone and speechless
I will stand before you
face to face.
Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 76
Henry Victor 16.10.2012
It is emptiness, lack of love
for you that is constantly sucked
in by my root that fills my heart
prompting my present prayer.
Strike, hence, at the root of my poverty
giving me the strength
lightly to bear my joys and sorrow
giving me the strength
to make my love fruitful in service
giving me the strength
never to disown the poor
or, bend my knees before insolent might
giving me the strength
to raise my mind high above daily trifles
giving me also the strength
to surrender my strength to your will
but with love and joy.
Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 36
Henry Victor 16.10.2012
He, the innermost one, awakens my being
with his touch, planting his enchantment
on my eyes, playing the chords of my heart
in varied pulse of pleasure and pain.
He weaves this web of maya, delusion
in shades of gold, silver, blue and green
and let it peeps through folds of his feet
at whose touch I also forget myself.
Days come and ages pass
and it is he who moves my heart
in many names, in many guises,
in many raptures of joy and of sorrow.
Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 72
Henry Victor 14.10.2012
It is maya, delusion I create as I magnify
myself on all sides and cast coloured shadows
on your radiance, a barrier to your own being
calling your severed self in myriad notes.
Your self-separation in my body is your defeat
creating the poignant song echoing in the sky
those many coloured tears, smiles, alarms and hopes
with waves rising to sink, dreams breaking to form.
This screen you have painted with the brush
of the night and day, those innumerable figures
in front of your seat, is woven in wondrous mysteries
of curves, casting away barren lines of straightness.
The great pageant of you and me has overspread
the sky with the tune and dance of you and me,
and all the air is vibrant, and all ages pass
with the hiding and seeking of you and me.
Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 71
Henry Victor 14.10.2012
Those who love me in this world
try very hard to hold me secure,
but you, with love greater than they
can offer, keep me ever free.
Fear of me forgetting them prevents them
from leaving me alone, but day passes day
and you are not seen and if I call not you
your love still lingers for my love.
Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 32
Henry Victor 13.10.2012
Onetime I thought I could outdo
everyone else in the world both in wealth
and power amassing in my treasuries
the money due for distribution.
Soon sleep overtook me while I lay
relaxed on the bed that was not mine,
and on waking I found I was a prisoner
in my own treasure-house.
Then I said that it was my master
the Lord of this universe
that bound me a prisoner
binding me with unbreakable chain.
Now I realize that it was I who imprisoned
myself chaining my soul with falsehood,
the chain with unbreakable links that I worked
so hard to find at the end myself in its grip.
I had hoped my matchless power will hold
the world captive leaving me in a freedom,
and for this night and day I worked at the chain
with huge fires and cruel hard strokes.
Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 31
Henry Victor 12.10.2012
I dive down into the depth of the ocean
hoping to gain the perfect pearl of the formless
wanting no more sailing from harbour
to harbour in my weather-beaten boat.
To be tossed to-and-fro on waves was my past sport
now long passed and I am now eager to die
into deathlessness, an audience of fathomless abyss
where the music swells from toneless strings.
There I shall take this harp of my life tuning
to the notes of eternity and when it has sniffed out
its last utterance I shall lay down my silent harp
at the silent feet of the formless, the perfect .
Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 100
Henry Victor 10.10.2012
The stream of life that runs through my veins,
both night and day, also runs through the world,
dancing in rhythmic steps, making lyrical songs,
joyous moments, simple little painful pleasures.
It is life that shoots through the dust of the earth
in numberless blades of grass breaking in waves
of leaves and flowers, rocking also in the ocean-cradle
of birth and death, in tide both high and low.
My limbs, I feel, are made splendid by the touch
of this stream of life that also boosts my pride
as the life-throb of ages dances in my blood
this moment and in infinite moments to come.
Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 69
Henry Victor 10.10.2012
I heard the whispering early in the day
that we should sail in a boat, just you and me
alone, and no soul in the world would know
of this pilgrimage to no country with no end.
As we sail in that shoreless ocean
with your silent listening smile, my songs
would swell in melodies free as waves,
free from all bondage to thoughts and words.
But has not the time for this come yet
though the evening with the fading light
has come down to the shore with seabirds
returning, flying back to their nests!
When will the chains be unchained
for the sail to feel the wind
and the boat, like the last glimmer
of sunset, vanish into the night?
Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 42
Henry Victor 10.10.2012
Oh, the source of all light!
Where is the light?
Light it with the burning fire
that desire!
There is the lamp
but never a flicker of a flame
Is such your fate, my heart?
Wouldn’t death be far better for you!
Misery knocks at your door
and her message is that your lord is wakeful
and he calls you to the love date
through the darkness of night.
The sky is overcast, nothing but gloom
with clouds and ceaseless rain
and I know not what this stirring
within me, certainly not its meaning.
A moment's flash of lightning in my sight
drags down a deeper gloom
and my heart gropes for the path
to where the music of the night calls me.
Oh, the source of all light
Where is the light?
Light it with the burning fire
that desire!
It thunders and the wind rushes screaming
through the void of the night that is black
black as a black stone.
Let not the hours pass by in the dark.
Oh, the source of all light!
Light the lamp of love
within me with your life
that burning fire, that desire!
Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 27
Henry Victor 09.10.2012
I knew not from what eternity
you came right nearer to meet me!
Neither your sun nor the infinite
stars ever kept you hidden from me.
Both in the mornings and evenings
your footsteps had been heard
and your messenger came to me
within my heart, meeting in secret.
Today I know not why my life is agitated
within, causing a whirlwind of joy in my heart
as if the time has come to wind up my effort.
I feel a faint smell of your presence so sweet.
Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 46
Henry Victor 07.10.2012
He walks with his invisible steps
in every age and every moment
coming both in days and nights;
for he comes and ever he comes.
In many moods I have sung
many songs but a single message
in their notes: ‘He comes’.
In the fragrant days of sunny April
he walks through the forest path.
In the rainy gloom of July nights
he sails on the thundering clouds.
In my sorrows his steps press my heart
and it is the golden touch of his feet
that makes my joy shine and dazzle.
Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 45
Henry Victor 06.10.2012
Shrink my bloated ego, make me small
that I may make your being larger.
Let only a fraction of my megalomaniac self
be left that I may never hide you in my being.
Let my will shrivel and remain tiny
that I may feel you on all sides
coming to you always for all my needs
and offer my love constantly to you.
Let only those little fetters that bind
me with your will be left
so that your resolve is carried out in my life
and these are the restraints of your love.
Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 34
Henry Victor 05.10.2012
This golden light that dances on the leaves
these idle clouds sailing across the sky
and this passing breeze leaving its coolness
on my forehead are nothing but your love.
Oh my heart’s love, the morning light floods
my eyes with your message to my heart
and your face bends from above with your eyes
looking down on mine as my heart leaps to your feet.
Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 59
Henry Victor 04.10.2012
When my heart is hard and dry
come to me with a shower of mercy!
When grace is lost in my life
come to me with a burst of a song!
When wild work raises its clamour
on all my sides shutting me out
from the beyond, Lord of silence
come to me with your peace and rest!
When my beggarly heart sits crouched
shut up in a corner
oh my King, break open the door
and come with a royal ritual!
When desire blinds my mind
with delusion and dust
oh you the Holy One, you are ever wakeful;
therefore, come with your light and thunder!
Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 39
Henry Victor 03.10.2012
I came out alone to meet you;
but another in the silent dark follows
me despite my move aside to avoid
his presence and I escape him not.
He is, my own little self, my ego
making dust rise from the earth
with his conceit, adding his loud voice
to every word that I utter.
My own little self, actually my lord
knows no shame; but I am ashamed
to come knocking on your door
to meet you in his company.
Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 30
Henry Victor 03.10.2012
Myself, my name, is weeping in the dungeon
I have enclosed him with my busy building
this wall around that goes up into the sky day by day
where I lose sight of my being in its own dark shadow.
Now I take pride in this great wall that I plaster
with sand and dust lest a least hole should be left
in my name; despite all the care I take I lose
sight of my being, forgetting my true name.
Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 29
Henry Victor 02.10.2012
It is you who pull down the blinds
the veil for the sun to cause a night
for tired eyes of the day to renew sight
with fresh gladness in a new awakening.
So in the night of weariness let me give
myself to sleep without struggle, resting
my trust on you, and let me not force my spirit
to a poor preparation for worship tomorrow.
Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 25
Henry Victor 01.10.2012
When birds sing no more announcing
the day is done and the wind flagged
tired, then draw the cloak
of darkness thick on me
even as you wrapped the earth
with the coverlet of sleep
and tenderly closed at dusk
the petals of the drooping lotus.
When the traveler’s sack of provisions
is empty before the voyage ends
and his garment torn and dust-loaded
while his strength is exhausted
remove shame and poverty
renewing his life like a flower
under the cover of your kindly night
that he continues with the dawn of light.
Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 24
Henry Victor 01.10.2012
