Shadow of Death

My death, your servant, is knocking at my door

after crossing the deep sea to bring your call to my home!
Now the night is pitch dark and my heart is full of fear
yet, I will light the lamp and open my gate to honour him!

He is your messenger who stands at my door;

I will bow to him placing at his feet the treasures in my heart
for he will come back to you with his mission soon over
leaving only myself, my last offering to you in my home.

Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 86

Henry Victor          18.12.2012

Breakable Bowl

You made me, this breakable bowl
with endless potentials which is your principle
pleasure, and you constantly empty
ever to fill with lively fresh life.

This little flute you carry in your hand
over hills and vales carries your constant breath,
your multiple melodies, making my little heart
lose its limits giving birth, in joy, to ineffable chants.
 
Your infinite gifts continuously come to me
on these tiny and feeble hands of mine
where for aeons you have poured on them
your blessings and still, for more, there is room.

Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 01

Henry Victor          09.09.2012