Inconsistent

Hindrances in life are stubborn, and my heart aches
as I struggle to break these limitations; to hope
for freedom I need most I feel ashamed!

You, my friend, is a priceless wealth
but I have not the heart to sweep away the tinsel
filling my room; likewise I hate the shroud, the death
and the dust covering me, yet I cling to it with love!

My debts are huge, my failures great, and my shame

secret and heavy; but as I turn to you for my good
I tremble in case my plea is granted, and change expected!

Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 28

Henry Victor          04.01.2013

Acts Lead to Understanding

My child when I bring colourful toys

to you and as I give you these gifts
I understand why the clouds, the water
and the flowers are painted in tints.

When I sing to make you dance

I know why there is music in leaves
and waves with their singing chorus
to the heart of the listening earth.

When I bring sweet things to your hands

that greedily grab I know why there is honey
in the cup of the flowers and why fruits
are over-flowing with sweet juice.

When I kiss your cheeks my darling, and make

you smile I surely understand the pleasure streaming
from the sky in the morning light and the delight
the summer breeze brings to my body.

Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 62

(This is also in Tagore’s Crescent Moon, poem 09)

Henry Victor          23.12.2012

Dancing Delusion

It is maya, delusion I create as I magnify
myself on all sides and cast coloured shadows
on your radiance, a barrier to your own being
calling your severed self in myriad notes.

Your self-separation in my body is your defeat
creating the poignant song echoing in the sky
those many coloured tears, smiles, alarms and hopes
with waves rising to sink, dreams breaking to form.

This screen you have painted with the brush
of the night and day, those innumerable figures
in front of your seat, is woven in wondrous mysteries
of curves, casting away barren lines of straightness.

The great pageant of you and me has overspread
the sky with the tune and dance of you and me,
and all the air is vibrant, and all ages pass
with the hiding and seeking of you and me.

Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 71

Henry Victor          14.10.2012