Nature and Elements

The Widow and Her Son XXI
Night fell over North Lebanon and snow was covering the villages surrounded by the
Kadeesha Valley, giving the fields and prairies the appearance of a great sheet of
parchment upon which the furious Nature was recording her many deeds. Men came
home from the streets while silence engulfed the night.
In a lone house near those villages lived a woman who sat by her fireside spinning
wool, and at her side was her only child, staring now at the fire and then at his mother.
A terrible roar of thunder shook the house and the little boy shook with fright. He threw
his arms about his mother, seeking protection from Nature in her affection. She took
him to her bosom and kissed him; then she say him on her lap and said, "Do not fear,
my son, for Nature is but comparing her great power to man's weakness. There is a
Supreme Being beyond the falling snow and the heavy clouds and the blowing wind,
and He knows the needs of the earth, for He made it; and He looks upon the weak with
merciful eyes.
"Be brave, my boy. Nature smiles in Spring and laughs in Summer and yawns in
Autumn, but now she is weeping; and with her tears she waters life, hidden under the
earth.
"Sleep, my dear child; your father is viewing us from Eternity. The snow and thunder
bring us closer to him at this time.
"Sleep, my beloved, for this white blanket which makes us cold, keeps the seeds warm,
and these war-like things will produce beautiful flowers when Nisan comes.
"Thus, my child, man cannot reap love until after sad and revealing separation, and
bitter patience, and desperate hardship. Sleep, my little boy; sweet dreams will find
your soul who is unafraid of the terrible darkness of night and the biting frost."
The little boy looked upon his mother with sleep-laden eyes and said, "Mother, my eyes
are heavy, but I cannot go to bed without saying my prayer."
The woman looked at his angelic face, her vision blurred by misted eyes, and said,
"Repeat with me, my boy - 'God, have mercy on the poor and protect them from the
winter; warm their thin-clad bodies with Thy merciful hands; look upon the orphans
who are sleeping in wretched houses, suffering from hunger and cold. Hear, oh Lord,
the call of widows who are helpless and shivering with fear for their young. Open, oh
Lord, the hearts of all humans, that they may see the misery of the weak. Have mercy
upon the sufferers who knock on doors, and lead the wayfarers into warm places.
Watch, oh Lord, over the little birds and protect the trees and fields from the anger of
the storm; for Thou art merciful and full of love.'"
As Slumber captured the boy's spirit, his mother placed him in the bed and kissed his
eyes with quivering lips. Then she went back and sat by the hearth, spinning the wool
to make him raiment.

The Life of Love XVI
Spring
Come, my beloved; let us walk amidst the knolls,
For the snow is water, and Life is alive from its
Slumber and is roaming the hills and valleys.
Let us follow the footprints of Spring into the
Distant fields, and mount the hilltops to draw
Inspiration high above the cool green plains.
Dawn of Spring has unfolded her winter-kept garment
And placed it on the peach and citrus trees; and
They appear as brides in the ceremonial custom of
the Night of Kedre.
The sprigs of grapevine embrace each other like
Sweethearts, and the brooks burst out in dance
Between the rocks, repeating the song of joy;
And the flowers bud suddenly from the heart of
Nature, like foam from the rich heart of the sea.
Come, my beloved; let us drink the last of Winter's
Tears from the cupped lilies, and soothe our spirits
With the shower of notes from the birds, and wander
In exhilaration through the intoxicating breeze.
Let us sit by that rock, where violets hide; let us
Pursue their exchange of the sweetness of kisses.
Summer
Let us go into the fields, my beloved, for the
Time of harvest approaches, and the sun's eyes
Are ripening the grain.
Let us tend the fruit of the earth, as the
Spirit nourishes the grains of Joy from the
Seeds of Love, sowed deep in our hearts.
Let us fill our bins with the products of
Nature, as life fills so abundantly the
Domain of our hearts with her endless bounty.
Let us make the flowers our bed, and the
Sky our blanket, and rest our heads together
Upon pillows of soft hay.
Let us relax after the day's toil, and listen
To the provoking murmur of the brook.


Autumn
Let us go and gather grapes in the vineyard
For the winepress, and keep the wine in old
Vases, as the spirit keeps Knowledge of the
Ages in eternal vessels.
Let us return to our dwelling, for the wind has
Caused the yellow leaves to fall and shroud the
Withering flowers that whisper elegy to Summer.
Come home, my eternal sweetheart, for the birds
Have made pilgrimage to warmth and lest the chilled
Prairies suffering pangs of solitude. The jasmine
And myrtle have no more tears.
Let us retreat, for the tired brook has
Ceased its song; and the bubblesome springs
Are drained of their copious weeping; and
Their cautious old hills have stored away
Their colorful garments.
Come, my beloved; Nature is justly weary
And is bidding her enthusiasm farewell
With quiet and contented melody.
Winter
Come close to me, oh companion of my full life;
Come close to me and let not Winter's touch
Enter between us. Sit by me before the hearth,
For fire is the only fruit of Winter.
Speak to me of the glory of your heart, for
That is greater than the shrieking elements
Beyond our door.
Bind the door and seal the transoms, for the
Angry countenance of the heaven depresses my
Spirit, and the face of our snow-laden fields
Makes my soul cry.
Feed the lamp with oil and let it not dim, and
Place it by you, so I can read with tears what
Your life with me has written upon your face.


Bring Autumn's wine. Let us drink and sing the
Song of remembrance to Spring's carefree sowing,
And Summer's watchful tending, and Autumn's
Reward in harvest.
Come close to me, oh beloved of my soul; the
Fire is cooling and fleeing under the ashes.
Embrace me, for I fear loneliness; the lamp is
Dim, and the wine which we pressed is closing
Our eyes. Let us look upon each other before
They are shut.
Find me with your arms and embrace me; let
Slumber then embrace our souls as one.
Kiss me, my beloved, for Winter has stolen
All but our moving lips.
You are close by me, My Forever.
How deep and wide will be the ocean of Slumber,
And how recent was the dawn!

The Life of Love XVI
Spring
Come, my beloved; let us walk amidst the knolls,
For the snow is water, and Life is alive from its
Slumber and is roaming the hills and valleys.
Let us follow the footprints of Spring into the
Distant fields, and mount the hilltops to draw
Inspiration high above the cool green plains.
Dawn of Spring has unfolded her winter-kept garment
And placed it on the peach and citrus trees; and
They appear as brides in the ceremonial custom of
the Night of Kedre.
The sprigs of grapevine embrace each other like
Sweethearts, and the brooks burst out in dance
Between the rocks, repeating the song of joy;
And the flowers bud suddenly from the heart of
Nature, like foam from the rich heart of the sea.
Come, my beloved; let us drink the last of Winter's
Tears from the cupped lilies, and soothe our spirits
With the shower of notes from the birds, and wander
In exhilaration through the intoxicating breeze.
Let us sit by that rock, where violets hide; let us
Pursue their exchange of the sweetness of kisses.
Summer
Let us go into the fields, my beloved, for the
Time of harvest approaches, and the sun's eyes
Are ripening the grain.
Let us tend the fruit of the earth, as the
Spirit nourishes the grains of Joy from the
Seeds of Love, sowed deep in our hearts.
Let us fill our bins with the products of
Nature, as life fills so abundantly the
Domain of our hearts with her endless bounty.
Let us make the flowers our bed, and the
Sky our blanket, and rest our heads together
Upon pillows of soft hay.
Let us relax after the day's toil, and listen
To the provoking murmur of the brook.


Autumn
Let us go and gather grapes in the vineyard
For the winepress, and keep the wine in old
Vases, as the spirit keeps Knowledge of the
Ages in eternal vessels.
Let us return to our dwelling, for the wind has
Caused the yellow leaves to fall and shroud the
Withering flowers that whisper elegy to Summer.
Come home, my eternal sweetheart, for the birds
Have made pilgrimage to warmth and lest the chilled
Prairies suffering pangs of solitude. The jasmine
And myrtle have no more tears.
Let us retreat, for the tired brook has
Ceased its song; and the bubblesome springs
Are drained of their copious weeping; and
Their cautious old hills have stored away
Their colorful garments.
Come, my beloved; Nature is justly weary
And is bidding her enthusiasm farewell
With quiet and contented melody.
Winter
Come close to me, oh companion of my full life;
Come close to me and let not Winter's touch
Enter between us. Sit by me before the hearth,
For fire is the only fruit of Winter.
Speak to me of the glory of your heart, for
That is greater than the shrieking elements
Beyond our door.
Bind the door and seal the transoms, for the
Angry countenance of the heaven depresses my
Spirit, and the face of our snow-laden fields
Makes my soul cry.
Feed the lamp with oil and let it not dim, and
Place it by you, so I can read with tears what
Your life with me has written upon your face.


Bring Autumn's wine. Let us drink and sing the
Song of remembrance to Spring's carefree sowing,
And Summer's watchful tending, and Autumn's
Reward in harvest.
Come close to me, oh beloved of my soul; the
Fire is cooling and fleeing under the ashes.
Embrace me, for I fear loneliness; the lamp is
Dim, and the wine which we pressed is closing
Our eyes. Let us look upon each other before
They are shut.
Find me with your arms and embrace me; let
Slumber then embrace our souls as one.
Kiss me, my beloved, for Winter has stolen
All but our moving lips.
You are close by me, My Forever.
How deep and wide will be the ocean of Slumber,
And how recent was the dawn!

Song of the Flower XXIII
I am a kind word uttered and repeated
By the voice of Nature;
I am a star fallen from the
Blue tent upon the green carpet.
I am the daughter of the elements
With whom Winter conceived;
To whom Spring gave birth; I was
Reared in the lap of Summer and I
Slept in the bed of Autumn.
At dawn I unite with the breeze
To announce the coming of light;
At eventide I join the birds
In bidding the light farewell.
The plains are decorated with
My beautiful colors, and the air
Is scented with my fragrance.
As I embrace Slumber the eyes of
Night watch over me, and as I
Awaken I stare at the sun, which is
The only eye of the day.
I drink dew for wine, and hearken to
The voices of the birds, and dance
To the rhythmic swaying of the grass.
I am the lover's gift; I am the wedding wreath;
I am the memory of a moment of happiness;
I am the last gift of the living to the dead;
I am a part of joy and a part of sorrow.
But I look up high to see only the light,
And never look down to see my shadow.
This is wisdom which man must learn.

Eating and Drinking chapter VI
Then an old man, a keeper of an inn, said, "Speak to us of Eating and Drinking."
And he said:
Would that you could live on the fragrance of the earth, and like an air plant be
sustained by the light.
But since you must kill to eat, and rob the young of its mother's milk to quench your
thirst, let it then be an act of worship,
And let your board stand an altar on which the pure and the innocent of forest and
plain are sacrificed for that which is purer and still more innocent in many.
When you kill a beast say to him in your heart,
"By the same power that slays you, I to am slain; and I too shall be consumed. For the
law that delivered you into my hand shall deliver me into a mightier hand.
Your blood and my blood is naught but the sap that feeds the tree of heaven."
And when you crush an apple with your teeth, say to it in your heart,
"Your seeds shall live in my body,
And the buds of your tomorrow shall blossom in my heart,
And your fragrance shall be my breath,
And together we shall rejoice through all the seasons."
And in the autumn, when you gather the grapes of your vineyard for the winepress,
say in you heart,
"I too am a vineyard, and my fruit shall be gathered for the winepress,
And like new wine I shall be kept in eternal vessels."
And in winter, when you draw the wine, let there be in your heart a song for each cup;
And let there be in the song a remembrance for the autumn days, and for the vineyard,
and for the winepress.

Ting-A-Ling, Ting-A-Ling, Ting-A-Ling,

Ting-a-ling, ting-a-ling, ting-a-ling,
Who goes there stepping over the date leaves
Raising a melodious jingling?
Her scarf flutters in the dancing wind,
Her steps scatter flowers on the rocky road.
As she trips gaily on
Her arched eyebrows sparkle like a sword,
And her feet kick tiny stones
Scattering them like a jewelled necklace.


She is pretty as the peach blossoms,
And even the young Eid-moon is in love with her.
It pines for her rosy cheeks.
She is a, mirage and a vision rare
Many a prince riding an Arab mare
Sought her in vain in Sahara's desert sands.
For her many a young traveller
Lost their lives in strange, far-off lands.
And, lured by her haunting charm,
Died, many a forest deer.


[Original: Rum jhum jhum jhum; Translation: Kabir Chowdhury]

The Run-Away

O Chakravaki! What distant melodious

call of a known flute hast thou heard?
O my fugitive Bird!
What lost abode dost thou remember?
What paradise of thy dream?

O my Fugitive!
Tears flood thy unsteady eyes,
Tell, O tell me hat long-lost mother

calleth thee?

There under the shades of dusk from
the distant horizon some deep magic
spell beckoneth thee

Dost thou know who it is? O my wayward one!
Out of the fullness of heart and from the
depths of love it seems to call, Come,

Come, O Come,
Be in my lap, O my tyrant child,
O my fugitive Bird!
The south wind blowing over the forest,
Dose thy mother call thee now by raising

her hand, O Dear?
Dost thou, after all, distinguish thy kin

from one who isn't thy kin?
So, at the very peep of dawn descends
dusk on my low-roofed house!
The sheaves of paddy, or the secret call of Shyama
Dear! prey, tell me
What startled thee and made thee break thy bonds?
The eyes are overflowed with tears,
Who hath made thee drink Hemlock

. of evergreen tender love?
It seems of a sudden some young hare

startles and cries
'O Come, come, come
Come, O my dear Child,'
To the forest come back, O thou

Chakrabaki of the wood!
O Fickle Fugitive! . ,

[Translation: Abdul Hakim]

The Month of Poush

Lo! Winter comes!
She comes across an ocean of sorrow and tears.
Beware! Beware!
She comes from behind the horizon enveloped


in thick mist.
With her advent, alas! in the Ieafy forest
A farewell dirge seems to go round
The parting Day (Ah me!) casts a sad look
Losing as she does-the Evening Star that

lights her path.
See! Winter sets in -
She represents the sadness of the year's

journey, a loss of Eternity,
The farewell season of ripe paddy,

the dread of new arrival-
Beware! Beware! She is come! -
Dry breath, and Oh! the choked voice

of a farewell deeply laden with tears -

Arise, wayfarer! Thou hast to cover
a long distance casting a sad look
from thy black eyes.

[Translation: Abdul Hakim]

Song of the Do-Nothing

My mind as the Bee today runs a-field
amid the blossoms of the grass in
the field of mator-shuti -

On this winter morn enamored of the
sun-light.

I like to accompany the restless butterfly
From bud to bud
In the field of flowery Maw plants.
And at night I hear the farewell wails

of Amman paddy in the meadow
Who's today taking a round amid
Kusha grasses along the bank of the dead river?
Lo! her yellow skirt gets entangled

among aroher flowers
She wears t hat Babla flower as her
nose-top.
And around her body is her cloth
of green Aparajita.
I am keen for a touch of that fair unknown!

She send me while walking
speechless message of her eyes.

And so my mind as the Bee runs
in wild ecstasy amid the blossoms
of the grass in the field of Mator-Shuti.

[Translation: Abdul Hakim]

My Dearest Nightingale

Please come back, come back to my empty bosom
The morning flowers wither away untimely
Mourning your loss
Won't you return to my empty bosom!

O, my dearest silly one,
Without your presence the moon turned pale
The river cries out in pain
Pleading you to return

O, the beautiful one
The trees search for you spreading out their branches
Up in the sky
The storm churns through the woods
Looking for you
Branches lay on the dirt in deep pain

O my restless one
When you return
Lotus will re-bloom
Your glance will make the gray sky
Turn azure again

O, my dear one, please return to my empty bosom!
Please return!

[Translation: Gulshan Ara]

Life


An awakening pervades
The meadows and wilderness
Let not your slumber
Make it go in vain.
The lightning is beckoning
With thunder and rain.

The heaven is awake
The earth is awake
Oh, wake up for heaven's sake.

Beneath the earth
And under the feet
Those who lay dead
They shall now sprout
Like the green grass
With new blades.

A verdant earth is awaiting
The advent of a spring-shower.
The bud that the thunder
Failed to burst into new blossom
Out of joy, it will now bloom.

[Original: Jibon; Translation: Syed Mujibul Huq]

By the Wood

Who walks by the woods,
methink, he is known to me.

Beating night's silence in rhythmic patterns
his jingles ring onmidnight
wakes up in curly hair
setting a fountain in my stony bosom.

[Original: Bono pothe ke jay; Translation: Mohammad Nurul Huda]

Baby Sparrow

From its nest behind the termite-eaten
wooden beams of the huge building
a baby sparrow cried out for its mother.
The mother, catching dragonflies
in the nearby field heard the cry.
'Must be that some mischievous child is trying to
take away my baby,' she thought
and, with her heart overcome with anxiety,
desperately headed back for the nest.
The fledgling saw its mother coming
and thought, 'Why don't I fly to her chest?'
and tried to do just that.
Alas, it hadn't learn to fly yet
and therefore fell all the way down to the floor. T
he mother, with tearful eyes saw this
and without any thoughts for her own life
flew down to her baby, trying
to protect her under her wings.
But soon some children came running,
chasing after them and finally catching the baby.
They showed no concern for
how precious the baby was to its mother.
They kept putting it inside an umbrella,
inside pockets, etc.
They all were laughing, except for one boyhis
eyes were overcome with tears.
His mother had passed away long ago,
he'd even forgotten what it was like
to be loved by his mother,
Yet, he felt a cry of pain deep within his heart.
With a ladder, he put the baby sparrow back in its
The tearful eyes of the baby sparrow
held heartfelt blessings for him.
The mother kept looking at the boy with great surprise,
her eyes too expressing her heartfelt gratitude for him.
These silent blessings that
the mother bird bestowed upon him,
the entire world cannot equal by a single speck.


[Original: Chorui Pakhir Chhana; Translation: Sajed Kamal]

When The Day Came

When the Day came -
The Day I had lived and died for -
The Day that is not in any calendar -
Clouds heavy with love
Showered me with wild abundance.
Inside me, my soul was drenched.
Around me, even the desert grew green.

The self forgets itself

The self forgets itself
as a frantic dog in a glass temple
barks himself to death;
as a lion, seeing a form in the well,
leaps on the image;
as a rutting elephant sticks his tusk
in a crystal boulder.
The monkey has his fistful of sweets
and won't let go. So
from house to house
he gibbers.
Kabir says, parrot-on-a-pole:
who has caught you?

I have been thinking

I have been thinking...
I have been thinking of the difference between water
I have been thinkingI have been thinkingand the waves on it. Rising,
water's still water, falling back,
it is water, will you give me a hint
how to tell them apart?


Because someone has made up the word
'wave,' do I have to distinguish it
from water?


There is a Secret One inside us;
the planets in all the galaxies
pass through his hands like beads.


That is a string of beads one should look at with luminous eyes.

Do Not Go To The Garden Of Flowers

Do not go to the garden of flowers!
Do not go to the garden of flowers!
O Friend! go not there;
In your body is the garden of flowers.


Take your seat on the thousand petals of the lotus,
and there gaze on the Infinite Beauty.

Trees
I think that I shall never see
A poem as lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;
A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
A tree that may in Summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;
Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.
Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

Trees
I think that I shall never see
A poem as lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;
A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
A tree that may in Summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;
Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.
Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

Easter
The air is like a butterfly
With frail blue wings.
The happy earth looks at the sky
And sings.

Dave Lilly
There's a brook on the side of Greylock that used to be full of trout,
But there's nothing there now but minnows; they say it is all fished out.
I fished there many a Summer day some twenty years ago,
And I never quit without getting a mess of a dozen or so.
There was a man, Dave Lilly, who lived on the North Adams road,
And he spent all his time fishing, while his neighbors reaped and sowed.
He was the luckiest fisherman in the Berkshire hills, I think.
And when he didn't go fishing he'd sit in the tavern and drink.
Well, Dave is dead and buried and nobody cares very much;
They have no use in Greylock for drunkards and loafers and such.
But I always liked Dave Lilly, he was pleasant as you could wish;
He was shiftless and good-for-nothing, but he certainly could fish.
The other night I was walking up the hill from Williamstown
And I came to the brook I mentioned,
and I stopped on the bridge and sat down.
I looked at the blackened water with its little flecks of white
And I heard it ripple and whisper in the still of the Summer night.
And after I'd been there a minute it seemed to me I could feel
The presence of someone near me, and I heard the hum of a reel.
And the water was churned and broken, and something was brought to land
By a twist and flirt of a shadowy rod in a deft and shadowy hand.
I scrambled down to the brookside and hunted all about;
There wasn't a sign of a fisherman; there wasn't a sign of a trout.
But I heard somebody chuckle behind the hollow oak
And I got a whiff of tobacco like Lilly used to smoke.
It's fifteen years, they tell me, since anyone fished that brook;
And there's nothing in it but minnows that nibble the bait off your hook.
But before the sun has risen and after the moon has set
I know that it's full of ghostly trout for Lilly's ghost to get.
I guess I'll go to the tavern and get a bottle of rye
And leave it down by the hollow oak, where Lilly's ghost went by.
I meant to go up on the hillside and try to find his grave
And put some flowers on it -- but this will be better for Dave.

Alarm Clocks
When Dawn strides out to wake a dewy farm
Across green fields and yellow hills of hay
The little twittering birds laugh in his way
And poise triumphant on his shining arm.
He bears a sword of flame but not to harm
The wakened life that feels his quickening sway
And barnyard voices shrilling "It is day!"
Take by his grace a new and alien charm.
But in the city, like a wounded thing
That limps to cover from the angry chase,
He steals down streets where sickly arc-lights sing,
And wanly mock his young and shameful face;
And tiny gongs with cruel fervor ring
In many a high and dreary sleeping place.

To a Cat
Mirrors are not more silent
nor the creeping dawn more secretive;
in the moonlight, you are that panther
we catch sight of from afar.
By the inexplicable workings of a divine law,
we look for you in vain;
More remote, even, than the Ganges or the setting sun,
yours is the solitude, yours the secret.
Your haunch allows the lingering
caress of my hand. You have accepted,
since that long forgotten past,
the love of the distrustful hand.
You belong to another time. You are lord
of a place bounded like a dream.

History of the Night
Throughout the course of th generations
men constructed the night.
At first she was blindness;
thorns raking bare feet,
fear of wolves.
We shall never know who forged the word
for the interval of shadow
dividing the two twilights;
we shall never know in what age it came to mean
the starry hours.
Others created the myth.
They made her the mother of the unruffled Fates
that spin our destiny,
thev sacrificed black ewes to her, and the cock
who crows his own death.
The Chaldeans assigned to her twelve houses;
to Zeno, infinite words.
She took shape from Latin hexameters
and the terror of Pascal.
Luis de Leon saw in her the homeland
of his stricken soul.
Now we feel her to be inexhuastible
like an ancient wine
and no one can gaze on her without vertigo
and time has charged her with eternity.
And to think that she wouldn't exist
except for those fragile instruments, the eyes.