Deathless Desolation

Oh Deity of the desolate temple!

How can the broken strings of Vina sing you praise?
How can the bells here proclaim the time of worship?
But the air around you here is still and silent!

In this desolate dwelling of you, the divine, comes

the roaming spring breeze bringing the tidings
of new flowers; but flowers for your worship
are no more offered here in this deathless desolation.

Your worshipper of old wanders, ever longing

for that favour still refused, and in the evening when fires
and shadows mingle with gloom and dust, he wearily
comes back to the ruined temple with hunger in his heart.

Many festival days come to you in silence, and many nights

worship continues with unlit lamp while new images are built
by master craftsmen to be carried at the appointed time
to a holy stream of obscure origin as you remain un-worshipped.

Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 88

Henry Victor          20.12.2012