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

For My New Journey

At this moment of my parting from you

wish me good luck, my friends, for the sky
is glowing with a new dawn, inviting me
to my path that recoils so beautifully.

Ask not what I have with me to take there

for I start on my journey with empty hands
but an expectant heart, putting on also my wedding
garland without the red-brown dress of the traveller.

Though there are dangers on my way I still have no fear

in heart, for the evening star, also, will soon come out
and when my trip is done the lamenting tune, the refrain
of the dusk, too will be removed at the heaven’s door.

Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 94

Henry Victor          27.11.2012

Time to Go

Now I have my leave to go my brothers

and sisters, hence, please bid me farewell.
I bow to you all and take my departure
and here I give back the keys of my door.

Now I give up all claims to my house
but ask only for last kind words from you
as we were neighbours for so long
when I received more than I could give.

Now the day has dawned and the lamp

that lit my dark corner is out
for a summons has come to me
and I am ready for my journey.

Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 93

Henry Victor          23.11.2012

Stream of Life

The stream of life that runs through my veins,
both night and day, also runs through the world,
dancing in rhythmic steps, making lyrical songs,
joyous moments, simple little painful pleasures.

It is life that shoots through the dust of the earth
in numberless blades of grass breaking in waves
of leaves and flowers, rocking also in the ocean-cradle
of birth and death, in tide both high and low.

My limbs, I feel, are made splendid by the touch
of this stream of life that also boosts my pride
as the life-throb of ages dances in my blood
this moment and in infinite moments to come.

Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 69

Henry Victor          10.10.2012