Love with Love

In my heart your joy overflows

into which you have made your home!
O Lord of all heavens, I wonder
if I were not, where your love would be!

You have taken me as your trusted partner

of all this wealth, all heavens and this earth
placing in my soul your joyful, endless play
and in my life is your will taking a solider shape.

For this you, the King of kings has come down

with all your splendour to captivate my mind
and for this your love loses in the love of your lover
with you becoming visible in that perfect union of two.

Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 56

Henry Victor          13.12.2012

Sharper Sword

I thought I should ask for the garland of roses around
your neck but I was wary, hence, waited for the dawn
for you to depart to find few fragments on bed, searching
like a beggar for a stray petal, or two, in the morning.

But I find no flower, not even a petal, or any other sign
of your love left behind, no spices, and no jar of perfume
but it is your sharp sword from the sheath removed
flashing as a flame and heavy as a bolt of thunder.

The new light of morning probed through the window
and spread on your bed while the early bird twittered
and queried what gift I had received: was it a flower
or spices, or a jar of perfume, but why an awful sword?

I pause to muse with awe: what gift is this of yours
I cannot even hide, and as frail as I am, I am ashamed
also to wear for it hurts me if I pressed to my bosom
yet I shall bear in heart this honour, the token of pain.

From this moment I shall have no fear in this world
of many ties, and you will be victorious in  my striving
for you have left death as my companion and I crown
him with my life, cutting with this sword all my bonds.

Lord of my life from now onwards I leave all dolls
and petty cosmetics, with no more waiting and weeping
in corners, and I shall carry no more shyness, or niceness
but this sword you have given me as an adornment.

Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 52

Henry Victor          11.12.2012

Pearl of the Formless

I dive down into the depth of the ocean
hoping to gain the perfect pearl of the formless
wanting no more sailing from harbour
to harbour in my weather-beaten boat.

To be tossed to-and-fro on waves was my past sport
now long passed and I am now eager to die
into deathlessness, an audience of fathomless abyss
where the music swells from toneless strings.

There I shall take this harp of my life tuning
to the notes of eternity and when it has sniffed out
its last utterance I shall lay down my silent harp
at the silent feet of the formless, the perfect .

Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 100

Henry Victor          10.10.2012

Sail to Sing

I heard the whispering early in the day
that we should sail in a boat, just you and me
alone, and no soul in the world would know
of this pilgrimage to no country with no end.

As we sail in that shoreless ocean
with your silent listening smile, my songs
would swell in melodies free as waves,
free from all bondage to thoughts and words.

But has not the time for this come yet
though the evening with the fading light
has come down to the shore with seabirds
returning, flying back to their nests!

When will the chains be unchained
for the sail to feel the wind
and the boat, like the last glimmer
of sunset, vanish into the night?

Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 42

Henry Victor          10.10.2012