I Won't Let You Go (34 page)

One more time, if I may,

I would like to find that seat

on the lap of which is spread

a caress from a foreign land.

Runaway dreams from the past

may flock there yet again

and with their inchoate hummings

build a nest for me once more.

Resurrecting the happy hours,

it may make my waking sweet

and to the flute that has fallen silent

restore the melodious airs.

At the window, arms outstretched,

it may waylay the scents of spring

as the great silence’s pacing

is heard in the midnight universe.

It will lock for ever in my ears

the whispers of that beloved woman

who has spread this seat for me

with her love from a foreign land.

It will keep for ever unsleeping

that message, so sad, so tender,

of that woman whose language I did not know

but whose eyes were eloquent.

On Rupnarayan’s bank

I awoke

and knew the world

was no dream.

In blood’s alphabet

I saw my countenance.

I knew myself

in blow on blow received,

in pain on pain.

Truth is hard,

and I loved the hard:

it never deceives.

This life’s a penance of suffering unto death,

to gain truth’s terrible price,

to clear all debts in death.

When existence first manifested itself,

the first day’s sun asked:

‘Who are you?’

There was no answer.

Years passed.

The day’s last sun

put its last question

on the shore of the western ocean

in a hushed evening –

‘Who are you?’ –

but got no answer.

Time and again the obscure night of suffering

has knocked at my door.

Its only arms, as far as I’ve been able to make out,

are the tortuous poses of pain, grotesque gestures of terror –

in brief, its role as a conjuror in the darkness.

Each time I’ve believed those horrid masks to be true,

disastrously I’ve lost.

This game of winning and losing, life’s false jugglery,

nightmare that clings to our steps from childhood on,

replete with torment’s jests.

Fear’s variety show on film –

death’s smart artistry projected onto the dark.

Your creation’s path you’ve spread with a magical net

of tricks, enchantress,

laying with expert hands the snares

of false beliefs

for life’s innocents.

With this trickery you’ve stamped human greatness:

for such a one you haven’t left veiled nights.

The path that your stars

show him

is his inner way,

ever transparent,

ever illuminated

by his simple faith.

However crooked outside, it’s straight within:

that’s his pride.

Others say he’s been deceived,

but he receives

truth within, bathed in his inner light.

Nothing can cheat him:

he carries his last reward

to his own storehouse.

He who easily endures your tricks receives

from your hands

a lasting claim to peace.

O beggar, you’ve made me a beggar,

        what more do you need?

My mendicant, what’s this beseeching song

        you sing as you walk by?

    Every morning with riches new

    to please you was my heart’s desire,

        my mendicant!

Alas, in a flash I placed all at your feet;

        nothing’s now left.

O beggar, you’ve made me a beggar,

        what more do you need?

With my own breast’s cloth-end

        I’ve clothed your nakedness.

For your pleasure I’ve

        emptied my universe.

    My heart, my mind, my life’s springtime

    already lie in your cupped palms,

        my mendicant!

Should you want more, give me something first;

        then can I hand it back.

I live with so little

that what I lose, I lose. 

A particle goes

and ‘Woe is me!’ cries my soul.

Like a river-bank, in vain

I try to grasp the passing flow.

One by one they knock against my breast

and then they move away – the waves.

Whatever passes and what remains:

if I could surrender all to you,

then would nothing perish

but everything awake

in your resplendent greatness.

In you are so many suns and moons:

not a molecule, not an atom’s lost.

Will not my crumbs of lost jewels be at your feet?

I want, I want, I want with all my strength,

and you save me – by denying me what I crave.

My life’s a garner of your mercy’s duress.

             All that you’ve given me without my asking for them –

             this sky, its light, this body, this mind, life’s pulse –

             daily you see to it that I deserve such precious gifts,

                         delivering me

                         from the crisis

                         of too much desire.

I am sometimes forgetful, and sometimes I walk

on the track that leads in your direction.

And you are cruel: you move away from my sight.

             That this is your kindness – I know, I know, alas!

             You send me away because you wish to receive me.

             You are filling my life so it deserves union with you,

                         delivering me

                         from the crisis

                         of flagging desire.

So many unknowns you made me know,

           in so many homes allotted me some space!

What was far you made near, friend!

           and gave the stranger a brother’s face.

                       When I leave a familiar dwelling-place,

                       I panic, wondering ‘whatever’s coming next?’

                       That you abide in all that’s new to me

                                   is at that moment from my mind effaced.

                       What was far you made near, friend!

                                   and gave the stranger a brother’s face.

In life and death in this wide universe

           wherever your fancy takes me,

surely you, whom I’ve known all my life,

           will yourself introduce me to each face!

                      Once you are known, there are no strangers,

                      no interdictions, no scary dangers.

                      Uniting all, you remain watchful:

                                 may you always be in my gaze!

                      What was far you made near, friend!

                                 and gave the stranger a brother’s face.

‘Save me in danger!’ is never my prayer to you:

            I would rather be unafraid of danger.

If you can’t comfort me in sorrow, never mind:

            it’s sorrow itself I would like to conquer.

                         If there’s none to support me,

                         let my own strength wake,

                         and if in this world I face loss

                                     or heaps of deceit,

                         may my own mind never concede defeat!

‘Redeem me, please!’ is never my prayer to you:

            I would rather have the strength to cross over on my own.

If you can’t lighten my load, never mind:

            may I have the strength to carry it myself!

                       In happy days with deep humility

                       I’ll get to know your face,

                       so that in nights of sorrow

                                    when the whole world seems to cheat,

                       I don’t doubt your grace!

Sunshine and shadows play hide-and-seek today

           in the paddy-fields!

These white cloud-rafts soft-floating in the sky’s blue –

           who has set them adrift?

                        Today the bees forget to gather nectar:

                        they just fly about, they’re blind drunk on light!

                        And why are pairs of chakravaka birds

                                   milling on the river’s sands?

Listen, mates, we ain’t going home today –

           no! not indoors!

We’ll smash the sky and plunder

           what’s outdoors!

                           Like crests of foam on tidal waters

                           laughter scuds along the wind today.

                           We’re gonna skip work

                                        and play the flute all day!

A soft wind stirs the white sail without a spot.

Never, never have I seen such navigation.

From which shore does it bring its alien riches?

My mind wants to glide with it,

leaving on this edge all wanting and all getting.

Water drips behind. Low thunder calls.

Clouds give way. On a face the red rays fall.

Who are you, pilot? Whose beloved are you?

I wonder, but have no answer.

In which mode will you tune your instrument?

What are the magic words you’ll intone?

Clouds have gathered on clouds,

            darkness descends.

Why do you keep me sitting alone

            by the door?

                        In working days, busy with different chores,

                        I keep the company of diverse men,

                        but today I’m waiting to have a rendez-vous

                                   with you, only with you!

                        Why do you keep me sitting alone

                                   by the door?

If you slight me,

            if you don’t show yourself,

how will I pass such a

            day of the monsoon blues?

                       My eyes wide open,

                       I can only stare at the distance,

                       while my soul weeps and wanders

                                   with the storm-wind’s roar.

                       Why do you keep me sitting alone

                                   by the door?