When the creation was new and the stars
shone their first light, the splendour, gods
held their assembly in the sky, to sing: ‘Oh
the picture-perfection, what flawless joy!’
But suddenly one cried: ‘Somewhere
there is a break in the chain of light
and one of the stars
surely, has been lost!'
Now the golden string of the stars’ harp
snapped and their song stopped, in dismay
the stars cried: ‘Yes, that the lost star
was the best, the glory of all heavens!'
From that day the search for the best
is unceasing and the cry goes on from one
to the other that in the lost star
the world has lost its joy.
Only in the deepest perception, silence
of night the stars smile and whisper
among themselves: ‘Vain is this seeking
there is, always, the unbroken perfection!’
Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 78
Henry Victor 19.10.2012
When a day is spent on lazing, normally
I grieve over lost time knowing not
with you nothing is ever lost but your hands
take them into your bosom to hide.
Hidden in your heart with other stuff
you nourish those seeds into sprouts
later to flourish into buds and blossoms
and evolving flowers into fruits.
All this happens as I lay my tired limbs
sleeping on my idle bed imagining my work
now is ceased, but only to wake in the morning
to find my garden filled with magical flowers.
Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 81
Henry Victor 17.10.2012
It is emptiness, lack of love
for you that is constantly sucked
in by my root that fills my heart
prompting my present prayer.
Strike, hence, at the root of my poverty
giving me the strength
lightly to bear my joys and sorrow
giving me the strength
to make my love fruitful in service
giving me the strength
never to disown the poor
or, bend my knees before insolent might
giving me the strength
to raise my mind high above daily trifles
giving me also the strength
to surrender my strength to your will
but with love and joy.
Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 36
Henry Victor 16.10.2012
