To Read

I am here to read you my poems, and in your hall
I have a corner seat, and in your world
I have no work to do, and my useless life breaks
into rhyme and rhythm without a purpose!

For your silent worship in the dark temple of midnight
command me to stand before you to read a poem
and honour me demanding my presence in the morning
when the golden harp is tuned.

Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 15

Henry Victor 05.01.2013

Beggar Maid’s Waiting

Love you stand behind, hiding in shadows

of others pushing, and passing you on the dusty road
taking you for nothing as I wait, my offerings spread
for you, but the passers-by pick my flowers
one by one and my basket is nearly empty.

The morning and the noon is past, and in the evening
shade my eyes are sleepy, and men going home
glance at me and smile, filling me with shame
and I sit like a beggar, drawing my skirt over my face
and when they ask what it is I want my eyes drop with no answer.

I do not know how to tell them
that it is for you I wait, and you love
have promised to come, and I cannot
due to shame, reveal my dowry, this poverty
and I hide this pride in the secret of my heart.

I sit on the grass gazing upon the sky and dream
the sudden splendour of your coming with all lights ablaze,
golden flags flying and crowds at the roadside
see you come down from your seat to raise me, a beggar
from the dust and set beside you like a creeper in summer breeze.

But many processions pass by with noise and shouts
and glamour of glory as time slides, and still the sound
of the wheels of your vehicle is not heard as you stand
behind others, silently in the shadow while I wait and weep
and wear out my heart, wasting my soul in vain longing.

Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 41

Henry Victor          01.01.2013

Freeing

Deliverance, for me, is not in renunciation but in thousand
bonds I feel the embrace of freedom, my delight, and you
forever pour the fresh drink of your wine in varied colours
and fragrance filling this earthen vessel to the brim.

My world will light its hundred different lamps
with your flame flickering and I will place
these lights on the altar of your temple
never shutting the doors of my senses.

The delights of sight, smell and hearing, and even
touch will bear your delight, an illumination
of my joy burning my illusions while my passions
my unrestrained desires, will ripe into fruits of love.

Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 73

Henry Victor          05.11.2012

Light

Oh, the source of all light!
Where is the light?
Light it with the burning fire
that desire!

There is the lamp
but never a flicker of a flame
Is such your fate, my heart?
Wouldn’t death be far better for you!

Misery knocks at your door
and her message is that your lord is wakeful
and he calls you to the love date
through the darkness of night.

The sky is overcast, nothing but gloom
with clouds and ceaseless rain
and I know not what this stirring
within me, certainly not its meaning.

A moment's flash of lightning in my sight
drags down a deeper gloom
and my heart gropes for the path
to where the music of the night calls me.

Oh, the source of all light
Where is the light?
Light it with the burning fire
that desire!

It thunders and the wind rushes screaming
through the void of the night that is black
black as a black stone.
Let not the hours pass by in the dark.

Oh, the source of all light!
Light the lamp of love
within me with your life
that burning fire, that desire!

Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 27

Henry Victor          09.10.2012