Your Flower

From your throne you came down with a flower

a prize, and stood at my cottage door, the corner
I was singing all alone when your ear
picked my melody, my music!

Masters are many in your hall and songs
are sung there at all hours, but a simple carol
a little lament song of this novice mingled
with the great music of the world is your pick!

Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 49

Henry Victor          31.12.2012

Waiting

I spent the whole night waiting for him in vain

and I fear that in the morning he may suddenly
appear at my door when I, tired, have fallen asleep!

Oh friends, leave the way open and stop him not.

If the sounds of his steps do not wake me, please

do not wake me for I wish not to be called
from my slumber by a clamorous choir of birds
or by the rioting wind at the festival of dawn light.

Undisturbed, let me sleep even if my Lord suddenly

comes to my door, for my sleep is precious but waiting
for his touch, my closed eyes open their lids to light
in his smile as he stands like a dream in a dark night.

Let him appear before my sight as the first light

and the first form; let him, with his glance, be the first
thrill of joy to my awakened soul, and let my return
to self also be the immediate return to him.

Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 47

Henry Victor          31.12.2012

Tragedy of the Divine Comedy

I was begging from door to door in the village path
when your golden chariot appeared in the distance

like a gorgeous dream and I wondered who was this King
of all kings, and I thought my hard days were at an end!

As the chariot stopped where I stood and your glance fell

on me, waiting for alms to be given unasked and for wealth
to be scattered around, and you came down with a smile
further raising my hopes, my feeling of luck!

Suddenly you put your right hand and said, ‘What have you
to give me?’, shocking me with a rare kingly jest, opening
your palm to a beggar, throwing me into confusion, indecision
as I slowly from my wallet gave you the least little grain.

But my surprise was great at the day’s end as I emptied
my begging bag on the floor to find a least little gram of gold
among the poor heap and I bitterly wept and wept
and wished that I had had the heart to give you my all.

Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 50

Henry Victor          30.12.2012

Cloud of Tears and Songs

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

The Sky and the Nest

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

Rising and Falling

In the dusk of gleams and glimpses she remained

in the depth of my being never opening her veils
in the morning light, and she, folded in my final
song, will be my last gift to you, my God!

Though words have wooed, yet failed to win her
with persuasion stretching its eager arms in vain.
I have roamed from country to country keeping her in
the cave of my heart and around her I have risen and fallen.

She reigned over my thoughts and actions
my slumbers and dreams though dwelling alone
and apart while many have knocked at my door
and asked for her but turning away in despair.

There is none in the world who ever saw

her face to face as she remains
in her loneliness waiting
waiting to be recognised by you.

Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 66

Henry Victor          28.12.2012

 

Me and My Songs

 
My God, the Greatest Poet, I am ready to give you drink
from this cup, or food from this plate, from my very life.
It is your delight seeing your creation with my eyes, silently
standing at the portals of my ears listening to your harmony.

Your world is weaving words in my mind

and your joy is adding music to them
as you give yourself to me in love, and then feel
your own sweetness within, and through me.
 
Adopted from Tagore’s Gitanjali, poem 65

Henry Victor          27.12.2012