As I salute you, my God,
invisible, immortal and un-nameable,
let my senses spread
to touch this world, your foot-stool.
Like a July rain-cloud so low, unshed showers,
let my mind bend to greet you at your door
with my songs of diverse strains threaded in a single
current, and flow into you, a sea of silence.
Like a flock of cranes flying
night and day to their mountain nests
let my life journey into you, my home
that is eternal, and my love.
Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 103
Henry Victor 09.11.2012
Oh my death, you are the final feat
of my life, come hence, and whisper to me
for I keep watching for you daily, enduring
for your sake the joys and pains of my life.
All that I am, all that I have, all that I hope
and all my love always flowed towards you
in the depth of secrecy, and with one final
glance from you forever my life will be yours.
The flowers are now woven and the garland
is ready for the bridegroom, and after the wedding
the bride shall leave her home to meet you,
her master, alone in the solitude of the night.
Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 91
Henry Victor 06.11.2012
Deliverance, for me, is not in renunciation but in thousand
bonds I feel the embrace of freedom, my delight, and you
forever pour the fresh drink of your wine in varied colours
and fragrance filling this earthen vessel to the brim.
My world will light its hundred different lamps
with your flame flickering and I will place
these lights on the altar of your temple
never shutting the doors of my senses.
The delights of sight, smell and hearing, and even
touch will bear your delight, an illumination
of my joy burning my illusions while my passions
my unrestrained desires, will ripe into fruits of love.
Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 73
Henry Victor 05.11.2012
Bird songs rippled the morning sea of silence
and the flowers were merry by the roadside
with wealth of golden rays scattered through the rift
of clouds as we, unaware of these, raced on our way.
Singing no glad songs, nor playing, or smiling
or speaking, or bartering in the village
never lingering on our way, we quickened
increasing speed as limbs of the clock sped by.
The sun moved to the mid sky and in the shade doves cooed
as withered leaves danced, whirled in the hot air of the noon
and the shepherd boy drowsed, dreamed under the banyan
tree as I rested my tired limbs on the grass beside the water.
My companions with scorn laughed at me holding their heads
high as they hurried on never looking back nor resting
vanishing in the distant blue haze crossing meadows and hills
passing through strange and far-away countries.
All honour to you, the heroic host of the ceaseless path!
As I greeted scorn and guilt pricked me to rise, and I found
no response in soul giving myself up for the lost,
a glad humiliation in the shadow of a dim delight.
The repose of the sun-embroidered green gloom
slowly spread over my heart and I forgot the purpose
for, and the goal of my travel, surrendering my mind
without struggle to the maze of shadows and songs.
At last when I woke from my slumber, opened my eyes
I saw you standing by me, flooding my sleep with your smile!
Oh, how I had feared that the path was long and so tiresome
and the struggle to reach you was hard!
Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 48
Henry Victor 04.11.2012
The day when I was not ready for you, Oh my King
you entered my cave, my heart, uninvited and unknown
as one in the common crowd, pressing the ring
of eternity on countless fleeting moments of my life.
Today when by chance I reflect on those minutes
and see your indelible signature laying scattered
in the cosmic dust mixed with the misty memory
of joys and sorrows of my trivial days forgotten.
But you never turn away from my childish play
with dust and mist, or disregard me for my lack of a track,
and I know the foot-steps that I hear in my playroom
are the same as those echoing from one star to another.
Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 43
Henry Victor 02.11.2012
In desperate search, but with hope
I go searching for eternity
in all the corners of my room
and I find her not.
My shack is small and that which leaves
this house is gone never to be regained
but infinite is your mansion, my Master
seeking eternity I have come to your door.
I stand under the golden canopy
of your evening sky
lifting my eyes to your face and see
I have come to the edge of eternity.
Nothing can vanish from this brink;
neither hope, nor happiness
nor the vision of a face
seen through my tears will ever shrink.
Oh Master, please dip my empty life
into that ocean, plunging it into its depth
and let me feel that lost touch
of the spirit of the universe.
Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 87
Henry Victor 01.11.2012
Time is unending in your hands, my Master
and there is none to count your minutes
as days and nights pass and ages blossom
and fade like flowers even as you wait.
Centuries follow each other perfecting a small
wild flower and with us we have no time to lose
and having no time we must scramble and crawl
for a chance as we are too poor to be late.
It is time that goes by as I give it to every man
critically claiming it, while your altar is empty
of offerings to the last, and at the end of the day I rush
in fear your gate will be shut but to find yet there is time.
Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 82
Henry Victor 31.10.2012
