More Beautiful

Your wristlet is indeed beautiful
ornamented with sparkling stars
artfully fashioned with flashy jewels
of multiple colours, more than I can name.

But more beautiful is your sword, the pain
with its curve of lightning like the outspread wings
of Garuda, the vehicular bird of Vishnu, perfectly
poised, and angry, like the red light of sunset.

The sword shivers like the last moment of life
with an ecstasy of pain at the final stroke of death,
shining like the pure flame of being burning
in an earthly sense with one fierce flash.

Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 53

Henry Victor          11.12.2012