Last Day

 

 

 

That last day, I know, will come

when my sight of this earth shall be lost
and my life will take its leave in silence
drawing that curtain over my eyes.

Yet stars will watch at night

and morning rise as before with hours
heaving for the living like sea waves
casting up pleasures and pains.

As I think of this, the end of all my moments

the barriers break and I see, clearly, your world
in the light of my death where treasures are trivial
but rare gems are the simple seats, lowliest livings.

Let those things that I longed in vain

and things that I have hoarded in past pass;
but let me possess those possessions
I snubbed and slighted as significantly trivial.

Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 92

Henry Victor          19.11.2012

Mercy of Refusals

My desires are countless and my cry is pitiful
but you always save me by your hard refusals
and this strong mercy, this tough love
has penetrated and spread wholly into my life.

Daily you make me worthy of the simple
but greater gifts you give me unasked such as
this sky and the light, this body and the life
with a mind saving me from the perils of my desire.

There are times when I lazily linger
and times when I hurry toward my goal
but you very cruelly hide yourself
from my face and my disciplined feel.

Daily you make me worthy of your acceptance
packed with your complete and constant refusals
refusing me ever and ever so immediately
saving me from risks of weedy and vague desire.

Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 14

Henry Victor          26.09.2012