Rhythmic Rush

All things rush, stopping not

looking not behind, and no power
can hold them back, for they rush
with that rhythmic rush.

It is not beyond you to be glad
with the gladness of this rhythm
being tossed and lost and broken
in the flick of this fearful joy.

You keep steps with that restless rapid music

of seasons that come to dance and pass away
with colours, tunes, and perfumes pouring in endless
flows of joy scattering, dying every moment.
 

Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 70

Henry Victor          22.12.2012

Breakable Bowl

You made me, this breakable bowl
with endless potentials which is your principle
pleasure, and you constantly empty
ever to fill with lively fresh life.

This little flute you carry in your hand
over hills and vales carries your constant breath,
your multiple melodies, making my little heart
lose its limits giving birth, in joy, to ineffable chants.
 
Your infinite gifts continuously come to me
on these tiny and feeble hands of mine
where for aeons you have poured on them
your blessings and still, for more, there is room.

Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 01

Henry Victor          09.09.2012