Life and Existence

Unending Love

I seem to have loved you in numberless forms, numberless times…
In life after life, in age after age, forever.
My spellbound heart has made and remade the necklace of songs,
That you take as a gift, wear round your neck in your many forms,
In life after life, in age after age, forever.


Whenever I hear old chronicles of love, it's age-old pain,
It's ancient tale of being apart or together.
As I stare on and on into the past, in the end you emerge,
Clad in the light of a pole-star piercing the darkness of time:
You become an image of what is remembered forever.


You and I have floated here on the stream that brings from the fount.
At the heart of time, love of one for another.
We have played along side millions of lovers, shared in the same
Shy sweetness of meeting, the same distressful tears of farewell-
Old love but in shapes that renew and renew forever.


Today it is heaped at your feet, it has found its end in you
The love of all man’s days both past and forever:
Universal joy, universal sorrow, universal life.
The memories of all loves merging with this one love of ours –
And the songs of every poet past and forever.

Threshold


I was not aware of the moment
when I first crossed the threshold of this life.


What was the power that made me open out into this vast mystery
like a bud in the forest at midnight!


When in the morning I looked upon the light
I felt in a moment that I was no stranger in this world,
that the inscrutable without name and form
had taken me in its arms in the form of my own mother.


Even so, in death the same unknown will appear as ever known to me.
And because I love this life,
I know I shall love death as well.


The child cries out
when from the right breast the mother takes it away,
in the very next moment to find in the left one its consolation.

Threshold


I was not aware of the moment
when I first crossed the threshold of this life.


What was the power that made me open out into this vast mystery
like a bud in the forest at midnight!


When in the morning I looked upon the light
I felt in a moment that I was no stranger in this world,
that the inscrutable without name and form
had taken me in its arms in the form of my own mother.


Even so, in death the same unknown will appear as ever known to me.
And because I love this life,
I know I shall love death as well.


The child cries out
when from the right breast the mother takes it away,
in the very next moment to find in the left one its consolation.

Threshold


I was not aware of the moment
when I first crossed the threshold of this life.


What was the power that made me open out into this vast mystery
like a bud in the forest at midnight!


When in the morning I looked upon the light
I felt in a moment that I was no stranger in this world,
that the inscrutable without name and form
had taken me in its arms in the form of my own mother.


Even so, in death the same unknown will appear as ever known to me.
And because I love this life,
I know I shall love death as well.


The child cries out
when from the right breast the mother takes it away,
in the very next moment to find in the left one its consolation.

The Lotus

On the day when the lotus bloomed, alas, my mind was straying,
and I knew it not. My basket was empty and the flower remained unheeded.

Only now and again a sadness fell upon me, and I started up from my
dream and felt a sweet trace of a strange fragrance in the south wind.

That vague sweetness made my heart ache with longing and it seemed to
me that is was the eager breath of the summer seeking for its completion.

I knew not then that it was so near, that it was mine, and that this
perfect sweetness had blossomed in the depth of my own heart.

The Last Bargain

"Come and hire me," I cried, while in the morning I was walking on the stone-paved

road.
Sword in hand, the King came in his chariot.
He held my hand and said, "I will hire you with my power."
But his power counted for nought, and he went away in his chariot.

In the heat of the midday the houses stood with shut doors.
I wandered along the crooked lane.
An old man came out with his bag of gold.
He pondered and said, "I will hire you with my money."
He weighed his coins one by one, but I turned away.


It was evening. The garden hedge was all aflower.
The fair maid came out and said, "I will hire you with a smile."
Her smile paled and melted into tears, and she went back alone into the dark.


The sun glistened on the sand, and the sea waves broke waywardly.
A child sat playing with shells.
He raised his head and seemed to know me, and said, "I hire you with nothing."
From thenceforward that bargain struck in child's play made me a free man.

The Journey

The morning sea of silence broke into ripples of bird songs;
and the flowers were all merry by the roadside;
and the wealth of gold was scattered through the rift of the clouds
while we busily went on our way and paid no heed.


We sang no glad songs nor played;
we went not to the village for barter;
we spoke not a word nor smiled;
we lingered not on the way.
We quickened our pace more and more as the time sped by.


The sun rose to the mid sky and doves cooed in the shade.
Withered leaves danced and whirled in the hot air of noon.
The shepherd boy drowsed and dreamed in the shadow of the banyan tree,
and I laid myself down by the water
and stretched my tired limbs on the grass.


My companions laughed at me in scorn;
they held their heads high and hurried on;
they never looked back nor rested;
they vanished in the distant blue haze.


They crossed many meadows and hills,
and passed through strange, far-away countries.
All honor to you, heroic host of the interminable path!
Mockery and reproach pricked me to rise,
but found no response in me.


I gave myself up for lost
in the depth of a glad humiliation
---in the shadow of a dim delight.


The repose of the sun-embroidered green gloom
slowly spread over my heart.
I forgot for what I had traveled,
and I surrendered my mind without struggle
to the maze of shadows and songs.


At last, when I woke from my slumber and opened my eyes,
I saw thee standing by me, flooding my sleep with thy smile.
How I had feared that the path was long and wearisome,
and the struggle to reach thee was hard!

The Journey

The morning sea of silence broke into ripples of bird songs;
and the flowers were all merry by the roadside;
and the wealth of gold was scattered through the rift of the clouds
while we busily went on our way and paid no heed.


We sang no glad songs nor played;
we went not to the village for barter;
we spoke not a word nor smiled;
we lingered not on the way.
We quickened our pace more and more as the time sped by.


The sun rose to the mid sky and doves cooed in the shade.
Withered leaves danced and whirled in the hot air of noon.
The shepherd boy drowsed and dreamed in the shadow of the banyan tree,
and I laid myself down by the water
and stretched my tired limbs on the grass.


My companions laughed at me in scorn;
they held their heads high and hurried on;
they never looked back nor rested;
they vanished in the distant blue haze.


They crossed many meadows and hills,
and passed through strange, far-away countries.
All honor to you, heroic host of the interminable path!
Mockery and reproach pricked me to rise,
but found no response in me.


I gave myself up for lost
in the depth of a glad humiliation
---in the shadow of a dim delight.


The repose of the sun-embroidered green gloom
slowly spread over my heart.
I forgot for what I had traveled,
and I surrendered my mind without struggle
to the maze of shadows and songs.


At last, when I woke from my slumber and opened my eyes,
I saw thee standing by me, flooding my sleep with thy smile.
How I had feared that the path was long and wearisome,
and the struggle to reach thee was hard!

The Gift

I want to give you something, my child, for we are drifting in the

stream of the world.

Our lives will be carried apart, and our love forgotten.

But I am not so foolish as to hope that I could buy your heart
with my gifts.

Young is your life, your path long, and you drink the love we
bring you at one draught and turn and run away from us.

You have your play and your playmates. What harm is there if
you have no time or thought for us!

We, indeed, have leisure enough in old age to count the days
that are past, to cherish in our hearts what our hands have lost
for ever.

The river runs swift with a song, breaking through all
barriers. But the mountain stays and remembers, and follows her
with his love.

The Gardener XLVI: You Left Me

You left me and went on your way.

I thought I should mourn for you
and set your solitary image in my
heart wrought in a golden song.

But ah, my evil fortune, time is
short.

Youth wanes year after year; the
spring days are fugitive; the frail
flowers die for nothing, and the wise
man warns me that life is but a
dewdrop on the lotus leaf.

Should I neglect all this to gaze after
one who has turned her back on me?

That would be rude and foolish,
for time is short.

Then, come, my rainy nights with
pattering feet; smile, my golden
autumn; come, careless April, scattering
your kisses abroad.

You come, and you, and you also!

My loves, you know we are mortals.
Is it wise to break one's heart for the
one who takes her heart away? For
time is short.

It is sweet to sit in a corner to muse
and write in rhymes that you are all
my world.

It is heroic to hug one's sorrow and
determine not to be consoled.

But a fresh face peeps across my
door and raise its eyes to my eyes.

I cannot but wipe away my tears
and change the tune of my song.

For time is short.

The Gardener XLII: O Mad, Superbly Drunk

O mad, superbly drunk;

If you kick open your doors and
play the fool in public;

If you empty your bag in a night,
and snap your fingers at prudence;

If you walk in curious paths and
play with useless things;

Reck not rhyme or reason;

If unfurling your sails before the
storm you snap the rudder in two,

Then I will follow you, comrade,
and be drunken and go to the dogs.

I have wasted my days and nights
in the company of steady wise neighbours.

Much knowing has turned my hair
grey, and much watching has made
my sight dim.

For years I have gathered and
heaped up scraps and fragments of
things:

Crush them and dance upon them,
and scatter them all to the winds.

For I know 'tis the height of wisdom
to be drunken and go the dogs.

Let all crooked scruples vanish,
let me hopelessly lose my way.

Let a gust of wild giddiness come
and sweep me away from my anchors.

The world is peopled with worthies,
and workers, useful and clever.

There are men who are easily first,
and men who come decently after.

Let them be happy and prosper,
and let me be foolishly futile.

For I know 'tis the end of all works
to be drunken and go to the dogs.

I swear to surrender this moment
all claims to the ranks of the decent.

I let go my pride of learning and
judgment of right and of wrong.

I'll shatter memory's vessel, scattering
the last drop of tears.

With the foam of the berry-red
wine I will bathe and brighten my
laughter.

The badge of the civil and staid
I'll tear into shreds for the nonce.

I'll take the holy vow to be worthless,
to be drunken and go to the dogs.

The Gardener X: Let Your Work Be, Bride

Let your work be, bride. Listen, the
guest has come.

Do you hear, he is gently shaking
the chain which fastens the door?

See that your anklets make no loud
noise, and that your step is not overhurried
at meeting him.

Let your work be, bride, the guest
had come in the evening.

No, it is not the ghostly wind, bride,
do not be frightened.

It is the full moon on a night of
April; shadows are pale in the courtyard;
the sky overhead is bright.

Draw your veil over your face if
you must, carry the lamp to the door
if you fear.

No, it is not the ghostly wind, bride,
do not be frightened.

Have no word with him if you are
shy; stand aside by the door when you
meet him.

If he asks you questions, and if
you wish to, you can lower you eyes
in silence.

Do not let your bracelets jingle
when, lamp in hand, you lead him in.

Have no words with him if your are
shy.

Have you not finished you work yet,
bride? Listen, the guest has come.

Have you not lit the lamp in the
cowshed?

Have you not got ready the offering
basket for the evening service?

Have you not put the red lucky
mark at the parting of your hair, and
done your toilet for the night?

O bride, do you hear, the guest has
come?

Let your work be!

The Gardener LXXXIII: She Dwelt on the Hillside

She dwelt on the hillside by edge
of a maize-field, near the spring that
flows in laughing rills through the
solemn shadows of ancient trees. The
women came there to fill their jars,
and travellers would sit there to rest
and talk. She worked and dreamed
daily to the tune of the bubbling
stream.

One evening the stranger came down
from the cloud-hidden peak; his locks
were tangled like drowsy snakes. We
asked in wonder, "Who are you?"
He answered not but sat by the
garrulous stream and silently gazed at
the hut where she dwelt. Our hearts
quaked in fear and we came back home
when it was night.

Next morning when the women
came to fetch water at the spring by
the deodar trees, they found the doors
open in her hut, but her voice was gone
and where was her smiling face?
The empty jar lay on the floor and her
lamp had burnt itself out in the
corner. No one knew where she had
fled to before it was morning--and the
stranger had gone.

In the month of May the sun grew
strong and the snow melted, and we
sat by the spring and wept. We
wondered in our mind, "Is there a
spring in the land where she has gone
and where she can fill her vessel in
these hot thirsty days?" And we
asked each other in dismay, "Is there
a land beyond these hills where we
live?"

It was a summer night; the breeze
blew from the south; and I sat in her
deserted room where the lamp stood
still unlit. When suddenly from
before my eyes the hills vanished like
curtains drawn aside. "Ah, it is
she who comes. How are you, my
child? Are you happy? But where
can you shelter under this open sky?
And, alas! our spring is not here to
allay your thirst."

"Here is the same sky," she said,
"only free from the fencing hills,-this
is the same stream grown into a


river,--the same earth widened into
a plain." "Everything is here," I
sighed, "only we are not." She
smiled sadly and said, "You are in
my heart." I woke up and heard the
babbling of the stream and the rustling
of the deodars at night.

The Gardener LXXIX: I Often Wonder

I often wonder where lie hidden
the boundaries of recognition between
man and the beast whose heart knows
no spoken language.
Through what primal paradise in a
remote morning of creation ran the
simple path by which their hearts
visited each other.
Those marks of their constant tread
have not been effaced though their
kinship has been long forgotten.
Yet suddenly in some wordless
music the dim memory wakes up
and the beast gazes into the man's
face with a tender trust, and the
man looks down into its eyes with
amused affection.
It seems that the two friends meet
masked, and vaguely know each other
through the disguise.

The Gardener LXIX: I Hunt for the Golden Stag

I hunt for the golden stag.

You may smile, my friends, but I
pursue the vision that eludes me.

I run across hills and dales, I wander
through nameless lands, because I am
hunting for the golden stag.

You come and buy in the market
and go back to your homes laden with
goods, but the spell of the homeless
winds has touched me I know not when
and where.

I have no care in my heart; all my
belongings I have left far behind me.

I run across hills and dales, I wander
through nameless lands--because I am
hunting for the golden stag.

The Gardener LV: It Was Mid-Day

It was mid-day when you went

away .

The sun was strong in the sky.

I had done my work and sat alone
on my balcony when you went away.

Fitful gusts came winnowing
through the smells of may distant
fields.

The doves cooed tireless in the shade,
and a bee strayed in my room humming
the news of many distant fields.

The village slept in the noonday
heat. The road lay deserted.

In sudden fits the rustling of the
leaves rose and died.

I gazed at the sky and wove in the
blue the letters of a name I had known,
while the village slept in the noonday
heat.

I had forgotten to braid my hair.
The languid breeze played with it upon
my cheek.

The river ran unruffled under the
shady bank.

The lazy white clouds did not move.

I had forgotten to braid my hair.

It was mid-day when you went
away.

The dust of the road was hot and
the fields panting.

The doves cooed among the dense
leaves.

I was alone in my balcony when you
went away.

The Gardener LXI: Peace, My Heart

Peace, my heart, let the time for
the parting be sweet.
Let it not be a death but completeness.
Let love melt into memory and pain
into songs.
Let the flight through the sky end
in the folding of the wings over the
nest.
Let the last touch of your hands be
gentle like the flower of the night.
Stand still, O Beautiful End, for a
moment, and say your last words in
silence.
I bow to you and hold up my lamp
to light you on your way.

The End

It is time for me to go, mother; I am going.

When in the paling darkness of the lonely dawn you stretch out
your arms for your baby in the bed, I shall say, "Baby is not
here!"-mother, I am going.

I shall become a delicate draught of air and caress you and
I shall be ripples in the water when you bathe, and kiss you and
kiss you again.

In the gusty night when the rain patters on the leaves you
will hear my whisper in your bed, and my laughter will flash with
the lightning through the open window into your room.

If you lie awake, thinking of your baby till late into the
night, I shall sing to you from the stars, "Sleep, mother, sleep."

One the straying moonbeams I shall steal over your bed, and
lie upon your bosom while you sleep.

I shall become a dream, and through the little opening of your
eyelids I shall slip into the depths of your sleep; and when you
wake up and look round startled, like a twinkling firefly I shall
flit out into the darkness.

When, on the great festival of puja, the neighbours' children
come and play about the house, I shall melt into the music of the
flute and throb in your heart all day.

Dear auntie will come with puja-presents and will ask,"Where
is our baby, sister?" Mother, you will tell her softly, "He is in
the pupils of my eyes, he is in my body and in my soul."

The Beginning

"Where have I come from, where did you pick me up?" the baby asked
its mother.

She answered, half crying, half laughing, and clasping the
baby to her breast


"You were hidden in my heart as its desire, my darling.

You were in the dolls of my childhood's games; and when with
clay I made the image of my god every morning, I made the unmade
you then.

You were enshrined with our household deity, in his worship
I worshipped you.

In all my hopes and my loves, in my life, in the life of my
mother you have lived.

In the lap of the deathless Spirit who rules our home you have
been nursed for ages.

When in girlhood my heart was opening its petals, you hovered
as a fragrance about it.

Your tender softness bloomed in my youthful limbs, like a glow
in the sky before the sunrise.

Heaven's first darling, twain-born with the morning light, you
have floated down the stream of the world's life, and at last you
have stranded on my heart.

As I gaze on your face, mystery overwhelms me; you who belong
to all have become mine.

For fear of losing you I hold you tight to my breast. What
magic has snared the world's treasure in these slender arms of
mine?"

The Astronomer

I only said, "When in the evening the round full moon gets
entangled among the beaches of that Dadam tree, couldn't somebody
catch it?"

But dada laughed at me and said, "Baby, you are the silliest
child I have ever known. The moon is ever so far from us, how could
anybody catch it?"

I said, "Dada, how foolish you are! When mother looks out of
her window and smiles down at us playing, would you call her far
away?"

Still dada said, "You are a stupid child! But, baby where
could you find a net big enough to catch the moon with?"

I said, "Surely you could catch it with your hands."

But dada laughed and said, "You are the silliest child I have
known. If it came nearer, you would see how big the moon is."

I said, "Dada, what nonsense they teach at your school! When
mother bends her face down to kiss us, does her face look very
big?"

But still dada says, "You are a stupid child."

Stray Birds 81 - 90

81

WHAT is this unseen flame of darkness
whose sparks are the stars?
82
LET life be beautiful like summer flowers


and death like autumn leaves.
88
HE who wants to do good knocks at the gate;


he who loves


finds the gate open.


84
IN death the many becomes one;
in life the one becomes many.
Religion will be one
when God is dead.


85


THE artist is the lover of Nature,


therefore he is her slave
and her master.
86
'HOW far are you from me, O Fruit?'


'I am hidden in your heart, O Flower.'
87
THIS longing is for the one who is felt in the dark,


but not seen in the day.
88
'YOU are the big drop of dew under the lotus leaf,


I am the smaller one on its upper side,


' said the dewdrop to the lake.

89
THE scabbard is content to be dull
when it protects the keenness of the sword.

90


IN darkness
the One appears as uniform;
in the light
the One appears as manifold.

Stray Birds 81 - 90

81

WHAT is this unseen flame of darkness
whose sparks are the stars?
82
LET life be beautiful like summer flowers


and death like autumn leaves.
88
HE who wants to do good knocks at the gate;


he who loves


finds the gate open.


84
IN death the many becomes one;
in life the one becomes many.
Religion will be one
when God is dead.


85


THE artist is the lover of Nature,


therefore he is her slave
and her master.
86
'HOW far are you from me, O Fruit?'


'I am hidden in your heart, O Flower.'
87
THIS longing is for the one who is felt in the dark,


but not seen in the day.
88
'YOU are the big drop of dew under the lotus leaf,


I am the smaller one on its upper side,


' said the dewdrop to the lake.

89
THE scabbard is content to be dull
when it protects the keenness of the sword.

90


IN darkness
the One appears as uniform;
in the light
the One appears as manifold.

Stream Of Life

The same stream of life that runs through my veins night and day
runs through the world and dances in rhythmic measures.


It is the same life that shoots in joy through the dust of the earth
in numberless blades of grass
and breaks into tumultuous waves of leaves and flowers.


It is the same life that is rocked in the ocean-cradle of birth
and of death, in ebb and in flow.


I feel my limbs are made glorious by the touch of this world of life.
And my pride is from the life-throb of ages dancing in my blood this moment.

Stray Birds 51 - 60

51
YOUR idol is shattered in the dust


to prove that God's dust is greater than
your idol.
52
MAN does not reveal himself in his history,


he struggles up through it.
53
WHILE the glass lamp rebukes the earthen for calling it cousin,


the moon rises, and the glass lamp,


with a bland smile, calls her,


'My dear, dear sister.'

54
LIKE the meeting of the seagulls
and the waves we meet and come near.


The seagulls fly off,
the waves roll away and we depart.
55
MY day is done,


and I am like a boat drawn on the beach,


listening to the dance-music of t


he tide in the evening.

56

LIFE is given to us,
we earn it by giving it.
57
WE come nearest to the great


when we are great in humility.
58
THE sparrow is sorry for the peacock


at the burden of its tail.
59
NEVER be afraid of the moments-


thus sings the voice of the everlasting.



60


THE hurricane seeks the shortest road
by the no-road,
and suddenly ends its search in the Nowhere.