In desperate search, but with hope
I go searching for eternity
in all the corners of my room
and I find her not.
My shack is small and that which leaves
this house is gone never to be regained
but infinite is your mansion, my Master
seeking eternity I have come to your door.
I stand under the golden canopy
of your evening sky
lifting my eyes to your face and see
I have come to the edge of eternity.
Nothing can vanish from this brink;
neither hope, nor happiness
nor the vision of a face
seen through my tears will ever shrink.
Oh Master, please dip my empty life
into that ocean, plunging it into its depth
and let me feel that lost touch
of the spirit of the universe.
Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 87
Henry Victor 01.11.2012
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
