Your sunbeams come to my world
with arms outstretched and stand
at my door to carry to your feet cloud
made of my tears, sighs and songs.
That mantle of misty cloud you wrap
around your bright frame with fond delight
turning that into infinite shapes and folds
colouring it with ever-changing shades.
It is so light and fleeting, tender and tearful
and dark covering your spotless white light
with its pathetic shadows, yet you love it
for what it is, oh you spotless and serene.
Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 68
Henry Victor 29.12.2012
You are the sky and you are the nest
and you are beautiful, and in the nest
it is your love that encloses my soul
with shades and sounds and scents!
There morning comes with the golden basket
bearing in her right hand the wreath
of beauty, silently to crown the earth
before the early birds catch the worm.
And evening comes over the lonely meadows
deserted by herds and through trackless paths
carrying cool currents of peace in her golden
jug from the western ocean of rest.
But the infinite sky spreads space for the soul
to take flight to regions where reigns the radiance
spotless white with no day nor night, nor form
nor colour where word is neither loud, nor in silence.
Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 67
Henry Victor 28.12.2012
I pause to pick and thread my last song
harvesting joy scattered in your world, mixing
mingling with joy that makes the earth flow
over in the riotous excess of the grass.
And with joy that sets the twin brothers,
life and death, dancing over the wide world
and joy that sweeps in with the tempest
shaking and waking all life with laughter.
And with joy that sits still with its tears
on the open red lotus of pain,
and finally that joy that throws everything
it has on the dust singing a song of silence.
Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 58
Henry Victor 14.12.2012
Your gifts to humans fulfil all our needs
and return to you, the source, but un-lessened!
The river completes his daily grind
hastening through hamlets and fields
ceaselessly streaming, winding in the end
towards the washing of your feet.
The flowers fail not to sweeten the air
with fragrant perfume, returning to offer
you the last service with a worship
that has never impoverished the world.
Likewise the words of this poet receive
different meanings from men and women
chanting them leaving the final sense
with you dwelling in the cave of my heart.
Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 75
Henry Victor 06.12.2012
I will place at your feet
awards and garlands of all my defeat
that I had no power to evade.
My pride too will not escape my heart
as my life bursts into exceeding pain
with an empty soul sobbing music as a hollow
reed capable of melting even a stone to tears.
I know, for certain, the tens of petals
of a lotus will not remain forever closed
and the secret respite from its honey
at that moment, for me will be unclosed.
From the void blue sky an eye shall gaze
on me and summon me in silence
leaving nothing for me, nothing whatsoever
and utter death I shall receive at your feet.
Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 98
Henry Victor 04.12.2012
