Life and Existence

Stray Birds 11- 20

11
SOME unseen fingers, like idle breeze,
are playing upon my heart the music of the ripples.


12


'WHAT language is thine, O sea?'
'The language of eternal question.'
'What language is thy answer, O sky?
'The language of eternal silence.'


13


LISTEN,
my heart,
to the whispers of the world
with which it makes love to you.


14


THE mystery of creation
is like the darkness of night-it
is great.


Delusions of knowledge are like
the fog of the morning.


15


DO not seat your love upon a precipice because it is high.
16


I SIT at my window this morning
where the world like a passer-by stops for a moment,
nods to me and goes.


17


THESE little thoughts are the rustle of leaves;
they have their whisper of
joy in my mind.


18


WHAT you are you do not see,
what you see is your shadow.


19


MY wishes are fools, they shout across thy songs, my Master.
Let me but listen.



20

I CANNOT choose the best.
The best chooses me.

Still Heart

When I give up the helm
I know that the time has come for thee to take it.
What there is to do will be instantly done.
Vain is this struggle.


Then take away your hands
and silently put up with your defeat, my heart,
and think it your good fortune to sit perfectly still
where you are placed.


These my lamps are blown out at every little puff of wind,
and trying to light them I forget all else again and again.


But I shall be wise this time and wait in the dark,
spreading my mat on the floor;
and whenever it is thy pleasure, my lord,
come silently and take thy seat here.

Signet of Eternity

The day was when I did not keep myself in readiness for thee;
and entering my heart unbidden even as one of the common crowd,
unknown to me, my king, thou didst press the signet of eternity upon
many a fleeting moment of my life.


And today when by chance I light upon them and see thy signature,
I find they have lain scattered in the dust mixed with the memory of
joys and sorrows of my trivial days forgotten.


Thou didst not turn in contempt from my childish play among dust,
and the steps that I heard in my playroom
are the same that are echoing from star to star.

Signet of Eternity

The day was when I did not keep myself in readiness for thee;
and entering my heart unbidden even as one of the common crowd,
unknown to me, my king, thou didst press the signet of eternity upon
many a fleeting moment of my life.


And today when by chance I light upon them and see thy signature,
I find they have lain scattered in the dust mixed with the memory of
joys and sorrows of my trivial days forgotten.


Thou didst not turn in contempt from my childish play among dust,
and the steps that I heard in my playroom
are the same that are echoing from star to star.

Signet of Eternity

The day was when I did not keep myself in readiness for thee;
and entering my heart unbidden even as one of the common crowd,
unknown to me, my king, thou didst press the signet of eternity upon
many a fleeting moment of my life.


And today when by chance I light upon them and see thy signature,
I find they have lain scattered in the dust mixed with the memory of
joys and sorrows of my trivial days forgotten.


Thou didst not turn in contempt from my childish play among dust,
and the steps that I heard in my playroom
are the same that are echoing from star to star.

Salutation


In one salutation to thee, my God,
let all my senses spread out and touch this world at thy feet.


Like a rain-cloud of July
hung low with its burden of unshed showers
let all my mind bend down at thy door in one salutation to thee.


Let all my songs gather together their diverse strains into a single current
and flow to a sea of silence in one salutation to thee.


Like a flock of homesick cranes flying night and day
back to their mountain nests
let all my life take its voyage to its eternal home
in one salutation to thee.

Senses


Deliverance is not for me in renunciation.
I feel the embrace of freedom in a thousand bonds of delight.


Thou ever pourest for me the fresh draught of thy wine of various
colours and fragrance, filling this earthen vessel to the brim.


My world will light its hundred different lamps with thy flame
and place them before the altar of thy temple.


No, I will never shut the doors of my senses.
The delights of sight and hearing and touch will bear thy delight.


Yes, all my illusions will burn into illumination of joy,
and all my desires ripen into fruits of love.

Senses


Deliverance is not for me in renunciation.
I feel the embrace of freedom in a thousand bonds of delight.


Thou ever pourest for me the fresh draught of thy wine of various
colours and fragrance, filling this earthen vessel to the brim.


My world will light its hundred different lamps with thy flame
and place them before the altar of thy temple.


No, I will never shut the doors of my senses.
The delights of sight and hearing and touch will bear thy delight.


Yes, all my illusions will burn into illumination of joy,
and all my desires ripen into fruits of love.

Roaming Cloud

I am like a remnant of a cloud of autumn
uselessly roaming in the sky, O my sun ever-glorious!
Thy touch has not yet melted my vapor,
making me one with thy light,
and thus I count months and years separated from thee.


If this be thy wish and if this be thy play,
then take this fleeting emptiness of mine,
paint it with colors, gild it with gold,
float it on the wanton wind and spread it in varied wonders.


And again when it shall be thy wish to end this play at night,
I shall melt and vanish away in the dark,
or it may be in a smile of the white morning,
in a coolness of purity transparent.

Roaming Cloud

I am like a remnant of a cloud of autumn
uselessly roaming in the sky, O my sun ever-glorious!
Thy touch has not yet melted my vapor,
making me one with thy light,
and thus I count months and years separated from thee.


If this be thy wish and if this be thy play,
then take this fleeting emptiness of mine,
paint it with colors, gild it with gold,
float it on the wanton wind and spread it in varied wonders.


And again when it shall be thy wish to end this play at night,
I shall melt and vanish away in the dark,
or it may be in a smile of the white morning,
in a coolness of purity transparent.

Prisoner


`Prisoner, tell me, who was it that bound you?'

`It was my master,' said the prisoner.
`I thought I could outdo everybody in the world in wealth and power,
and I amassed in my own treasure-house the money due to my king.
When sleep overcame me I lay upon the bed that was for my lord,
and on waking up I found I was a prisoner in my own treasure-house.'


`Prisoner, tell me, who was it that wrought this unbreakable chain?'


`It was I,' said the prisoner, `who forged this chain very carefully.
I thought my invincible power would hold the world captive
leaving me in a freedom undisturbed.
Thus night and day I worked at the chain
with huge fires and cruel hard strokes.
When at last the work was done
and the links were complete and unbreakable,
I found that it held me in its grip.'

Prisoner


`Prisoner, tell me, who was it that bound you?'

`It was my master,' said the prisoner.
`I thought I could outdo everybody in the world in wealth and power,
and I amassed in my own treasure-house the money due to my king.
When sleep overcame me I lay upon the bed that was for my lord,
and on waking up I found I was a prisoner in my own treasure-house.'


`Prisoner, tell me, who was it that wrought this unbreakable chain?'


`It was I,' said the prisoner, `who forged this chain very carefully.
I thought my invincible power would hold the world captive
leaving me in a freedom undisturbed.
Thus night and day I worked at the chain
with huge fires and cruel hard strokes.
When at last the work was done
and the links were complete and unbreakable,
I found that it held me in its grip.'

Poems On Man

Man goes into the noisy crowd
to drown his own clamour of silence.


Man is immortal; therefore he must die endlessly.
For life is a creative idea;
it can only find itself in changing forms.


Man's abiding happiness is not in getting anything
but in giving himself up to what is greater than himself,
to ideas which are larger than his individual life,
the idea of his country,
of humanity,
of God.

Poems On Man

Man goes into the noisy crowd
to drown his own clamour of silence.


Man is immortal; therefore he must die endlessly.
For life is a creative idea;
it can only find itself in changing forms.


Man's abiding happiness is not in getting anything
but in giving himself up to what is greater than himself,
to ideas which are larger than his individual life,
the idea of his country,
of humanity,
of God.

Poems On Life

Life is given to us,
we earn it by giving it.


Let the dead have the immortality of fame,
but the living the immortality of love.


Life's errors cry for the merciful beauty
that can modulate their isolation into a
harmony with the whole.


Life, like a child, laughs,
shaking its rattle of death as it runs.

Passing Breeze

Yes, I know, this is nothing but thy love,
O beloved of my heart---this golden light that dances upon the leaves,
these idle clouds sailing across the sky,
this passing breeze leaving its coolness upon my forehead.


The morning light has flooded my eyes---this is thy message to my heart.
Thy face is bent from above, thy eyes look down on my eyes,
and my heart has touched thy feet.

Playthings


Child, how happy you are sitting in the dust, playing with a broken twig all the

morning.

I smile at your play with that little bit of a broken twig.

I am busy with my accounts, adding up figures by the hour.

Perhaps you glance at me and think, "What a stupid game to spoil your morning
with!"

Child, I have forgotten the art of being absorbed in sticks and mud-pies.

I seek out costly playthings, and gather lumps of gold and silver.

With whatever you find you create your glad games, I spend both my time and my
strength over things I never can obtain.

In my frail canoe I struggle to cross the sea of desire, and forget that I too am
playing a game.

Playthings


Child, how happy you are sitting in the dust, playing with a broken twig all the

morning.

I smile at your play with that little bit of a broken twig.

I am busy with my accounts, adding up figures by the hour.

Perhaps you glance at me and think, "What a stupid game to spoil your morning
with!"

Child, I have forgotten the art of being absorbed in sticks and mud-pies.

I seek out costly playthings, and gather lumps of gold and silver.

With whatever you find you create your glad games, I spend both my time and my
strength over things I never can obtain.

In my frail canoe I struggle to cross the sea of desire, and forget that I too am
playing a game.

Paper Boats

Day by day I float my paper boats one by one down the running
stream.

In bid black letters I write my name on them and the name of
the village where I live.

I hope that someone in some strange land will find them and
know who I am.

I load my little boats with shiuli flower from our garden, and
hope that these blooms of the dawn will be carried safely to land
in the night.

I launch my paper boats and look up into the sky and see the
little clouds setting thee white bulging sails.

I know not what playmate of mine in the sky sends them down
the air to race with my boats!

When night comes I bury my face in my arms and dream that my
paper boats float on and on under the midnight stars.

The fairies of sleep are sailing in them, and the lading ins
their baskets full of dreams.

Old And New

Thou hast made me known to friends whom I knew not.
Thou hast given me seats in homes not my own.
Thou hast brought the distant near and made a brother of the stranger.


I am uneasy at heart when I have to leave my accustomed shelter;
I forget that there abides the old in the new,
and that there also thou abidest.


Through birth and death, in this world or in others,
wherever thou leadest me it is thou, the same,
the one companion of my endless life
who ever linkest my heart with bonds of joy to the unfamiliar.


When one knows thee, then alien there is none, then no door is shut.
Oh, grant me my prayer that I may never lose
the bliss of the touch of the one
in the play of many.

On the Seashore

On the seashore of endless worlds children meet.

The infinite sky is motionless overhead and the restless water is boisterous. On the
seashore of endless worlds the children meet with shouts and dances.

They build their houses with sand, and they play with empty shells. With withered
leaves they weave their boats and smilingly float them on the vast deep. Children have
their play on the seashore of worlds.

They know not how to swim, they know not how to cast nets. Pearl-fishers dive for
pearls, merchants sail in their ships, while children gather pebbles and scatter them
again. They seek not for hidden treasures, they know not how to cast nets.

The sea surges up with laughter, and pale gleams the smile of the sea-beach.
Death-dealing waves sing meaningless ballads to the children, even like a mother while
rocking her baby's cradle. The sea plays with children, and pale gleams the smile of the
sea-beach.

On the seashore of endless worlds children meet. Tempest roams in the pathless
sky, ships are wrecked in the trackless water, death is abroad and children play. On
the seashore of endless worlds is the great meeting of children.

My Polar Star

I have made You the polar star of my
existence; never again can I lose my way in the
voyage of life.

Wherever I go, You are always there to
shower your benefience all around me. Your face
is ever present before my mind's eyes.

If I lose sight of You even for a moment, I
almost lose my mind.

Whenever my heart is about to go astray, just
a glance of You makes it feel ashamed of itself.

O Fool

O Fool, try to carry thyself upon thy own shoulders!
O beggar, to come beg at thy own door!


Leave all thy burdens on his hands who can bear all,
and never look behind in regret.


Thy desire at once puts out the light from the lamp it touches with its breath.
It is unholy---take not thy gifts through its unclean hands.
Accept only what is offered by sacred love.

O Fool

O Fool, try to carry thyself upon thy own shoulders!
O beggar, to come beg at thy own door!


Leave all thy burdens on his hands who can bear all,
and never look behind in regret.


Thy desire at once puts out the light from the lamp it touches with its breath.
It is unholy---take not thy gifts through its unclean hands.
Accept only what is offered by sacred love.