Rhythmic Rush

All things rush, stopping not

looking not behind, and no power
can hold them back, for they rush
with that rhythmic rush.

It is not beyond you to be glad
with the gladness of this rhythm
being tossed and lost and broken
in the flick of this fearful joy.

You keep steps with that restless rapid music

of seasons that come to dance and pass away
with colours, tunes, and perfumes pouring in endless
flows of joy scattering, dying every moment.
 

Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 70

Henry Victor          22.12.2012