Death of Poetic Vanity

My song is plain without any adornments
and my tune needs no dress and decoration.
Pride of my ornaments ruins our union
as they would come between you and me.

Your whispers will drown
in the jingling of ornaments
and I know my poetic vanity dies
surely in shame before your sight.

O master poet, I have sat at your feet!
Let me make my life simple
and straight like a flute of reed
for you to fill with music.

Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 07

Henry Victor 07.01.2013

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

Agony of Missing

If I do not meet you in this life
let me then forever feel that missing
forgetting not the pain of not seeing
you and carry this sorrow
both in my dreams and in wakeful hours.

As I pass my days in markets with profits
weighing me down let me count my gain
nil if I had missed you and carry this misery
the sorrow of missing you
both in my dreams and in wakeful hours.

When I sit by the roadside, tired and panting
and spread my bed to rest, help me keep in mind
the journey is long until I meet you
and to miss you is agony, a sorrow I must carry
both in my dreams and in my wakeful hours.

When my home has been decorated and the flute
sound and laughter are loud, let me feel my failure
to invite you into my house, and without you
there is only emptiness, a sting I must carry
both in my dreams and in my wakeful hours.

Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 79

Henry Victor          08.12.2012