Some Poems from India - Part 1

GRANT ME

 

Let me not pray to be sheltered from dangers but to be

fearless in facing them.

Let me not beg for the stilling of my pain but for the

heart to conquer it.

Let me not look for allies in life's battlefield but to

my own strength.

Let me not crave in anxious fear to be saved but

hope for the patience to win my freedom.

Grant me that I may not be coward, feeling your mercy

in my success alone; but let me find the

grasp of your hand in my failure.

Rabindranath Tagore

LET MY COUNTRY AWAKE

Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high;

Where knowledge is free;

Where the world has not been broken up into fragments by narrow domestic walls;

Where the words come out from the depth of truth;

Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection;

Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way into the dreary desert sand of dead habit;

Where the mind is led forward by thee into ever-widening thought and action --

Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake. Rabindranath Tagore

SONG ON THE CREATION
There was neither non-existence nor existence then;
there was neither the realm of space nor the sky which is beyond.
What stirred? Where? In whose protection?
Was there water, bottomlessly deep?
There was neither death nor immortality then.
There was no distinguishing sign of night nor of day.
That one breathed, windless, by its own impulse.
Other than that there was nothing beyond.
Darkness was hidden by darkness in the beginning;
with no distinguishing sign, all this was water.
The life force that was covered with emptiness,
that one rose through power of heat.
Desire came upon that one in the beginning;
that was the first seed of mind.
Poets seeking in their heart with wisdom found the bond of existence in non-existence.
Their cord was extended across. Was there below? Was there above?
There were seed-placers; there were powers.
There was impulse beneath; there was giving-forth above.
Who really knows? Who will here proclaim it?
Whence was it produced? Whence is this creation?
The gods came afterwards, with the creation of this universe.
Who then knows whence it has arisen?
Whence this creation has risen -- perhaps it formed itself,
or perhaps it did not.
The one who looks down on it, in the highest heaven, only he knows
or perhaps he does not know.
The Rig Veda

TIME

Time is the root of all this earth;

These creatures, who from Time had birth,

Within his bosom at the end

Shall sleep; Time hath nor enemy nor friend.

All we in one long caravan

Are journeying since the world began;

We know not wither, but we know

Time guideth at the front, and all must go.

Like as the wind upon the field

Bows every herb, and all must yield,

So we beneath Time's passing breath

Bow each in turn, -- why tears for birth or death ?

Bhartrihari (translated by Paul Elmer More)
The canal loves to think that rivers exist solely to supply it with water.

Every child comes with the message that God is not yet discouraged by man

The woodcutter's axe begged for its handle from the tree.
The tree gave it.

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

The noise of the moment scoffs at the music of the Eternal.

The dust receives insult and in return offers her flowers.

The roots below the earth claim no rewards for making the branches fruitful.
Rabindranath Tagore

COMPASSION, AN EXAMPLE

Upagupta, the disciple of Buddha, lay sleep in

the dust by the city wall of Mathura.

Lamps were all out, doors were all shut, and

stars were all hidden by the murky sky of August.

Whose feet were those tinkling with anklets,

touching his breast of a sudden?

He woke up startled, and a light from a woman's

lamp fell on his forgiving eyes.

It was dancing girl, starred with jewels,

Wearing a pale blue mantle, drunk with the wine

of her youth.

She lowered her lamp and saw young face

austerely beautiful.

"Forgive me, young ascetic," said the woman,

"Graciously come to my house. The dusty earth

is not fit bed for you."

The young ascetic answered, "Woman,

go on your way;

When the time is ripe I will come to you."

Suddenly the black night showed its teeth

in a flash of lightening.

The storm growled from the corner of the sky, and

The woman trembled in fear of some unknown danger.

* . *

A year has not yet passed.

It was evening of a day in April,

in spring season.

The branches of the way side trees were full of blossom.

Gay notes of a flute came floating in the

warm spring air from a far.

The citizens had gone to the woods for the

festival of flowers.

From the mid sky gazed the full moon on the

shadows of the silent town.

The young ascetic was walking along the lonely street,

While overhead the love-sick koels uttered from the

mango branches their sleepless plaint.

Upagupta passed through the city gates, and

stood at the base of the rampart.

Was that a woman lying at his feet in the

shadow of the mango grove?

Stuck with black prestilence, her body

spotted with sores of small-pox,

She had been hurriedly removed from the town

To avoid her poisonous contagion.

The ascetic sat by her side, took her head

on his knees,

And moistened her lips with water, and

smeared her body with sandal balm.

"Who are you, merciful one?" asked the woman.

"The time, at last, has come to visit you, and

I am here," replied the young ascetic. Rabindranath Tagore

THE PENALTY OF VITRUE (from Panchatantra)

 

The fruit-tree's branch by very wealth

of fruit is bended low;

The peacock's feathered pride compels

A sluggish gait and slow;

The blooded horse that wins his race,

Must like cow be led:

The good in goodness often find

An enemy to dread. (translated by Arthur W. Ryder)

 

TRUE FRIENDSHIP

(from Panchatantra)

'Tis hard to find in life

A friend, a bow, a wife,

Strong, supple to endure

In stock and sinew pure,

In time of danger sure.

False friends are common. Yes, but where

True nature links a friendly pair,

The blessing is as rich as rare.

To bitter ends

You trust true friends,

Not wife nor mother,

Not son nor brother.

No long experience alloys

True friendship's sweet and supple joys;

No evil men can steal the treasure;

'Tis death, death only, sets a measure.

(translated by Arthur W. Ryder)

POVERTY

(from Panchatantra)

A beggar to the graveyard hied

And there "Friend corpse, arise," he cried

"One moment lift my heavy weight

Of poverty; for I of late

Grow weary, and desire instead

Your comfort; you are good and dead."

The corpse was silent. He was sure

'Twas better to be dead than poor. Arthur W. Ryder (translated from Sanskrit)

 

REALIZATION !

When dark passion wove

a web of ignorance about me,

then a woman seemed

to fill the world's expanse.

But now that I am favored with

keener discernment,

my tranquil sight sees Brahman

throughout the universe.

 

Bhartrihari (translated by Barbara S. Miller)