Rising and Falling

In the dusk of gleams and glimpses she remained

in the depth of my being never opening her veils
in the morning light, and she, folded in my final
song, will be my last gift to you, my God!

Though words have wooed, yet failed to win her
with persuasion stretching its eager arms in vain.
I have roamed from country to country keeping her in
the cave of my heart and around her I have risen and fallen.

She reigned over my thoughts and actions
my slumbers and dreams though dwelling alone
and apart while many have knocked at my door
and asked for her but turning away in despair.

There is none in the world who ever saw

her face to face as she remains
in her loneliness waiting
waiting to be recognised by you.

Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 66

Henry Victor          28.12.2012