Poem – It is Spring Again

It is spring, And the ledger is opened again.

From the abyss where they were frozen, 

those days suddenly return, those days

that passed away from your lips, that died

with all our kisses, unaccounted.

The roses return: they are your fragrance; 

they are the blood of your lovers.

Sorrow returns. I go through my pain

and the agony of friends still lost in the memory

of moon-silver arms, the caresses of vanished women.

I go through page after page. There are no answers, 

and spring has come once again asking

the same questions, reopening account after account. 

Poem – Highway

A despondent highway is stretched, 

its eyes set on the far horizon

On the cold dirt of its bosom, 

its grayish beauty spread
As if some saddened woman

in her lonely abode, lost in thought.

In contemplation of union with her Beloved

every pore sore, limbs limp with exhaustion 

Poem – Ghazal 

I am being accused of loving you, that is all

It  is not an insult, but a praise, that is all
My heart is pleased at the words of the accusers

O my dearest dear, they say your name, that is all
For what I am ridiculed, it is not a crime

My heart’s useless playtime, a failed love, that is all
I haven’t lost hope, but just a fight, that is all

The night of suffering lengthens, but just a night, that is all
In the hand of time is not the rolling of my fate

In the hand of time roll just the days, that is all
A day will come for sure when I will see the truth

My beautiful beloved is behind a veil, that is all
The night is young, Faiz start saying a Ghazal

A storm of emotions is raging inside, that is all 

Poem – Do Not Ask My Love 

Do not ask, my love, for the love we had before: 

You existed, I told myself, so all existence shone, 

Grief for me was you; the world’s grief was far.

Spring was ever renewed in your face: 

Beyond your eyes, what could the world hold? 

Had I won you, Fate’s head would hang, defeated.

Yet all this was not so, I merely wished it so.

The world knows sorrows other than those of love, 

Pleasures beyond those of romance: 

The dread dark spell of countless centuries

Woven with silk and satin and gold braocade, 

Bodies sold everywhere, in streets and markets, 

Besmeared with dirt, bathed in blood, 

Crawling from infested ovens, 

My gaze returns to these: what can I do? 

Your beauty still haunts me: what can I do? 

The world is burdened by sorrows beyond love, 

By pleasures beyond romance, 

Do not demand that love which can be no more. 

Poem – Before You Came

Before you came things were just what they were: 

the road precisely a road, the horizon fixed, 

the limit of what could be seen, 

a glass of wine was no more than a glass of wine.
With you the world took on the spectrum

radiating from my heart: your eyes gold

as they open to me, slate the color

that falls each time I lost all hope.
With your advent roses burst into flame: 

you were the artist of dried-up leaves, sorceress

who flicked her wrist to change dust into soot.

You lacquered the night black.
As for the sky, the road, the cup of wine: 

one was my tear-drenched shirt, 

the other an aching nerve, 

the third a mirror that never reflected the same thing.
Now you are here again—stay with me.

This time things will fall into place; 

the road can be the road, 

the sky nothing but sky; 

the glass of wine, as it should be, the glass of wine. 

Poem – Be Near Me 

Be near me now,

My tormenter, my love, be near me—

At this hour when night comes down,

When, having drunk from the gash of sunset, darkness comes

With the balm of musk in its hands, its diamond lancets,

When it comes with cries of lamentation,

with laughter with songs;

Its blue-gray anklets of pain clinking with every step.

At this hour when hearts, deep in their hiding places,

Have begun to hope once more, when they start their vigil

For hands still enfolded in sleeves;

When wine being poured makes the sound

of inconsolable children

who, though you try with all your heart,

cannot be soothed.

When whatever you want to do cannot be done,

When nothing is of any use;

—At this hour when night comes down,

When night comes, dragging its long face,

dressed in mourning,

Be with me,

My tormenter, my love, be near me. 

Poem – A Prison Evening 

Each star a rung, 

night comes down the spiral

staircase of the evening.

The breeze passes by so very close

as if someone just happened to speak of love.

In the courtyard, 

the trees are absorbed refugees

embroidering maps of return on the sky.

On the roof, 

the moon – lovingly, generously –

is turning the stars

into a dust of sheen.

From every corner, dark-green shadows, 

in ripples, come towards me.

At any moment they may break over me, 

like the waves of pain each time I remember

this separation from my lover.
This thought keeps consoling me: 

though tyrants may command that lamps be smashed

in rooms where lovers are destined to meet, 

they cannot snuff out the moon, so today, 

nor tomorrow, no tyranny will succeed, 

no poison of torture make me bitter, 

if just one evening in prison

can be so strangely sweet, 

if just one moment anywhere on this earth. 

Poem – The Whale 

The Whale that wanders round the Pole

Is not a table fish.

You cannot bake or boil him whole

Nor serve him in a dish;
But you may cut his blubber up

And melt it down for oil.

And so replace the colza bean

(A product of the soil).
These facts should all be noted down

And ruminated on,

By every boy in Oxford town
Who wants to be a Don. 

Poem – The South Country

When I am living in the Midlands 

That are sodden and unkind, 

I light my lamp in the evening: 

My work is left behind; 

And the great hills of the South Country 

Come back into my mind. 
The great hills of the South Country 

They stand along the sea; 

And it’s there walking in the high woods 

That I could wish to be, 

And the men that were boys when I was a boy 

Walking along with me. 
The men that live in North England 

I saw them for a day: 

Their hearts are set upon the waste fells, 

Their skies are fast and grey; 

From their castle-walls a man may see 

The mountains far away. 
The men that live in West England 

They see the Severn strong, 

A-rolling on rough water brown 

Light aspen leaves along. 

They have the secret of the Rocks, 

And the oldest kind of song. 
But the men that live in the South Country 

Are the kindest and most wise, 

They get their laughter from the loud surf, 

And the faith in their happy eyes 

Comes surely from our Sister the Spring 

When over the sea she flies; 

The violets suddenly bloom at her feet, 

She blesses us with surprise. 
I never get between the pines 

But I smell the Sussex air; 

Nor I never come on a belt of sand 

But my home is there. 

And along the sky the line of the Downs 

So noble and so bare. 
A lost thing could I never find, 

Nor a broken thing mend: 

And I fear I shall be all alone 

When I get towards the end. 

Who will there be to comfort me 

Or who will be my friend? 
I will gather and carefully make my friends 

Of the men of the Sussex Weald; 

They watch the stars from silent folds, 

They stiffly plough the field. 

By them and the God of the South Country 

My poor soul shall be healed. 
If I ever become a rich man, 

Or if ever I grow to be old, 

I will build a house with deep thatch 

To shelter me from the cold, 

And there shall the Sussex songs be sung 

And the story of Sussex told. 
I will hold my house in the high wood 

Within a walk of the sea, 

And the men that were boys when I was a boy 

Shall sit and drink with me. 

Poem – Rebel 

There is a wall of which the stones 

Are lies and bribes and dead men’s bones. 

And wrongfully this evil wall 

Denies what all men made for all, 

And shamelessly this wall surrounds 

Our homesteads and our native grounds. 
But I will gather and I will ride, 

And I will summon a countryside, 

And many a man shall hear my halloa 

Who never had thought the horn to follow; 

And many a man shall ride with me 

Who never had thought on earth to see 

High Justice in her armoury. 
When we find them where they stand, 

A mile of men on either hand, 

I mean to charge from right away 

And force the flanks of their array, 

And press them inward from the plains, 

And drive them clamouring down the lanes, 

And gallop and harry and have them down, 

And carry the gates and hold the town. 

Then shall I rest me from my ride 

With my great anger satisfied. 
Only, before I eat and drink, 

When I have killed them all, I think 

That I will batter their carven names, 

And slit the pictures in their frames, 

And burn for scent their cedar door, 

And melt the gold their women wore, 

And hack their horses at the knees, 

And hew to death their timber trees, 

And plough their gardens deep and through— 

And all these things I mean to do 

For fear perhaps my little son 

Should break his hands, as I have done. 

Poem – The Wantaritencant 

It watched me in the cradle laid, and from my boyhood’s home

It  glared above my shoulder-blade when I wrote my first “pome”;

It’s sidled by me ever since, with greeny eyes aslant—

It is the thing (O, Priest and Prince!) that wants to write, but can’t.
It yells and slobbers, mows and whines, It follows everywhere;

’Tis gloating on these very lines with red and baleful glare.

It murders friendship, love and truth (It makes the “reader” pant),

It ruins editorial youth, the Wantaritencant.
Its slime is ever on my work, and ever on my name;

No toil nor trouble does It shirk—for It will write, all the same!

It tantalized when great thoughts burned, in trouble and in want;

It makes it hell for all concerned, the Wantaritencant.
And now that I would gladly die, or rest my weary mind,

I cannot rest to think that I must leave the Thing behind.

Its green rot damns the dead, for sure—that greatest curse extant,

’Twill kill Australian literature, the Wantaritencant!
You cannot kill or keep It still, or ease It off a bit;

It talks about Itself until the world believes in It.

It is a Scare, a Fright, a Ghast, a Gibber, and a Rant,

A future Horror and a Past, the Wantaritencant! 

Poem – The Voice from Over Yonder

“Did she care as much as I did

When our paths of Fate divided?

Was the love, then, all onesided—

Did she understand or care?”

Slowly fall the moments leaden,

And the silence seems to deaden—

And a voice from over yonder answers sadly: “I’ve been there.”

“Have you tramped the streets of cities

Poor? And do you know what it is—

While no mortal cares or pities—

To have drifted past ambition;

To have sunk below despair?

Doomed to slave and stint and borrow;

Ever haunted in your sorrow

By the spectre of To-morrow?”

And the voice from over yonder answers sadly: “I’ve been there.”
“Surely in the wide Hereafter

There’s a land of love and laughter?

Say: Is this life all we live for—

Say it! think it, if you dare!

Have you ever thought or wondered

Why the Man and God were sundered?

Do you think the Maker blundered?”

And the voice, in mocking accents, answered only: “I’ve been there.” 

Poem – Vanguard

While the crippled cruisers stagger where the blind horizon dips,

And the ocean ooze is rising round the sunken battle-ships,

While the battered wrecks, unnoticed, with their mangled crews drift past—

Let me fire one gun for Russia, though that gun should be the last. 

’Tis a struggle of the Ages, and the White Man’s star is dim,

There is little jubilation, for the game has got too grim;

But though Russia’s hope seems shattered, and the Russian star seems set,

It may mean the Dawn for Russia—and my hope’s in IVAN yet! 
Let the Jingo in his blindness cant and cackle as he will;

But across the path from Asia run the Russian trenches still!

And the sahib in his rickshaw may loll back and smoke at ease,

While the haggard, ragged heroes man the battered batteries. 
’Tis the first round of the struggle of the East against the West,

Of the fearful war of races—for the White Man could not rest.

Hold them, IVAN! staggering bravely underneath your gloomy sky;

Hold them, IVAN! we shall want you pretty badly by-and-bye! 
Fighting for the Indian empire, when the British pay their debt;

Never Britain watched for BLUCHER as he’ll watch for IVAN yet!

It means all to young Australia—it means life or death to us,

For the vanguard of the White Man is the vanguard of the Russ! 

Poem – The Two Poets

Two poets were born where the skies were fair,

To live in the land thereafter;

And one was a singer of sorrow and care,

And one was a bard of laughter.
With simple measure and simple word,

The feelings of mankind voicing –

And light hearts listened and sad hearts heard,

And they went on their way rejoicing.
The glad rejoiced that the world was gay –

Who took no thought of the morrow-

And it ever has lightened the sad hearts’ way

To hear of another’s’ sorrow.
The poets died when none were aware,

(For no one could see the token)

That light of heart was the bard of care,

But the heart of the other was broken. 

Poem – The Triumph of the Poeple

LO, the gods of Vice and Mammon from their pinnacles are hurled

By the workers’ new religion, which is oldest in the world;

And the earth will feel her children treading firmly on the sod,

For the triumph of the People is the victory of God.
Not the victory of Churches, nor of Punishment and Wrath,

Not the triumph of the sceptic, throwing shadows on the path,

But of Christ and love and mercy o’er the Monarch and the Rod,

For the harvest of the Saviour is the aftermath of God.
O the Light of Revelation, since the reign of Care began,

Has been shining through the ages on the darkened eyes of man.

And the willing slave of Error—he is senseless as a clod—

For the simple Book of Nature is the written scroll of God.
Who will dare to say the sunlight on the pregnant Earth was shed

That the few might rest and fatten, while the many fight for bread?

Lo, there springs a common garden, where the foot of Greed hath trod,

For the victory of Labour was the prophecy of God.
Mother Earth, in coming seasons, shall fulfil her motherhood;

Then the children of her bosom never more shall want for food,

And oppression shall no longer grind the people iron-shod;

For the lifted hand of Labour is the upraised hand of God. 

Poem – Corruption

शीश कटाते फौजी देखे, 

आँख दिखाता पाकिस्तान, 

भाव गिराता रुपया देखा, 
जान गँवाता हुआ किसान, 
बहनो की इज्ज़त लुटती देखीं, 

काम खोजता हर नौजवान, 

कोई तो मुझको यह बता दे..

यह कैसा भारत निर्माण..
अन्न गोदामो में सड़ते देखा, 
भूख से मरता हिंदुस्तान, 
घोटालो की सत्ता देखीं, 
लूटता हुआ यह हिंदुस्तान, 
आपस में लड़कर भाई-भाई, 

जा रहे है क्यों श्मशान, 

कोई तो मुझको यह बता दे..

यह कैसा भारत निर्माण..

पैसो के आगे बिकता देखा, 
हर इंन्सान का ईमान, 
ईमानदारी को कुचलते देखा, 
तनकर चलता बईमान, 
कदम कदम पर होते देखा, 

देश की गरीबो का अपमान, 

कोई तो मुझको यह बता दे..

यह कैसा भारत निर्माण…! ! ३! ! 

हिंसा को मैंने बढ़ते देखा, 
अहिंसा का होता कत्त्लेआम, 
गिरगिट का रंग बदलने जैसा, 
रूप बदलता हर इंसान, 

आपस में हमने लड़ते देखा, 
राम हो या हो रहमान, 
कोई तो मुझको यह बता दे..
यह कैसा भारत निर्माण…
यह कैसा भारत निर्माण….

Poem – God

In his malodorous brain what slugs and mire,

Lanthorned in his oblique eyes, guttering burned!

His body lodged a rat where men nursed souls.

The world flashed grape-green eyes of a foiled cat

To him. On fragments of an old shrunk power,

On shy and maimed, on women wrung awry,

He lay, a bullying hulk, to crush them more.

But when one, fearless, turned and clawed like bronze,

Cringing was easy to blunt these stern paws,

And he would weigh the heavier on those after.
Who rests in God’s mean flattery now? Your wealth

Is but his cunning to make death more hard.

Your iron sinews take more pain in breaking.

And he has made the market for your beauty

Too poor to buy, although you die to sell.

Only that he has never heard of sleep;

And when the cats come out the rats are sly.

Here we are safe till he slinks in at dawn
But he has gnawed a fibre from strange roots,

And in the morning some pale wonder ceases.

Things are not strange and strange things are forgetful.

Ah! if the day were arid, somehow lost

Out of us, but it is as hair of us,

And only in the hush no wind stirs it.

And in the light vague trouble lifts and breathes,

And restlessness still shadows the lost ways.

The fingers shut on voices that pass through,

Where blind farewells are taken easily ….
Ah! this miasma of a rotting God! 

Poem – Girl To A Soldier On Leave

Love! You love me — your eyes

Have looked through death at mine.

You have tempted a grave too much

I let you — I repine.
I love you – Titan lover,

My own storm-days Titan.

Greater than the son of Zeus,

I know whom I would choose.
Titan — my splendid rebel 

The old Prometheus

Wanes like a ghost before your power —

His pangs were joys to yours.
Pallid days arid and wan

Tied your soul fast.

Babel-cities smoky tops

Pressed upon your growth
Weary gyves. What were you

But a word in the brains ways,

Or the sleep of Circes swine.

One gyve holds you yet.
It held you hiddenly on the Somme

Tied from my heart at home.

O must it loosen now? — I wish

You were bound with the old gyves.
Love! you love me — your eyes

Have looked through death at mine.

You have tempted a grave too much.

I let you – I repine. 

Poem – First Fruits

I did not pluck at all,

And I am sorry now :

The garden is not barred

But the boughs are heavy with snow,

The flake-blossoms thickly fall

And the hid roots sigh, ‘How long will our flowers be marred ?’
Strange as a bird were dumb,

Strange as a hueless leaf.

As one deaf hungers to hear,

Or gazes without belief,

The fruit yearned ‘Fingers, come !’ 

0, shut hands, be empty another year. 

Poem – Far Away 

By what pale light or moon-pale shore

Drifts my soul in lonely flight ?

Regions God had floated o’er

Ere He touched the world with light ?
Not in Heaven and not in earth

Is this water, is this moon ;

For there is no starry birth,

And no dawning and no noon.
Far away-0 far away,

Mist-born-dewy vapours rise

From the dim gates of the day

Far below in earthly skies. 

Poem – Expression 

Call-call–and bruise the air :

Shatter dumb space!

Yea! We will ding this passion everywhere ;

Leaving no place
For the superb and grave

Magnificent throng,

The pregnant queens of quietness that brave

And edge our song
Of wonder at the light

(Our life-leased home),

Of greeting to our housemates.

And in might Our song shall roam
Life’s heart, a blossoming fire

Blown bright by thought,

While gleams and fades the infinite desire,

Phantasmed naught.
Can this be caught and caged?

Wings can be clipt

Of eagles, the sun’s gaudy measure gauged,

But no sense dipt
In the mystery of sense : The troubled throng

Of words break out like smothered fire through


And smouldering, wrong. 

Poem – Dawn 

O tender first cold flush of rose,

O budded dawn, wake dreamily ;

Your dim lips as your lids unclose

Murmur your own sad threnody.

0 as the soft and frail lights break

Upon your eyelids, and your eyes

Wider and wider grow and wake,

The old pale glory dies.
And then, as sleep lies down to sleep

And all her dreams lie somewhere dead,

The iron shepherd leads his sheep

To pastures parched whose green is shed.

Still, 0 frail dawn, still in your hair

And your cold eyes and sad sweet lips,

The ghosts of all the dreams are them,

To fade like passing ships. 

Poem – Daughters of War

Space beats the ruddy freedom of their limbs,

Their naked dances with man’s spirit naked

By the root side of the tree of life

(The under side of things

And shut from earth’s profoundest eyes).
I saw in prophetic gleams

These mighty daughters in their dances

Beckon each soul aghast from its crimson corpse

To mix in their glittering dances :

I heard the mighty daughters’ giant sighs

In sleepless passion for the sons of valour

And envy of the days fo flesh,

Barring their love with mortal boughs across-

The mortal boughs, the mortal tree of life.

The old bark burnt with iron wars

They blow to a live flame

To char the young green clays

And reach the occult soul; they have no softer lure,

No softer lure than the savage ways of death.
We were satisfied of our lords the moon and the sun

To take our wage of sleep and bread and warmth-

These maidens came-these strong everliving Amazons,

And in an easy might their wrists

Of night’s sway and noon’s sway the sceptres brake,

Clouding the wild, the soft lustres of our eyes.
Clouding the wild lustres, the clinging tender lights ;

Driving the darkness into the flame of clay

With the Amazonian wind of them

Over our corroding faces

That must be broken-broken for evermore,

So the soul can leap out

Into their huge embraces,

Though there are human faces

Best sculptures of Deity,

And sinews lusted after

By the Archangels tall,

Even these must leap to the love-heat of these maidens

From the flame of terrene days,

Leaving grey ashes to the wind-to the wind.
One (whose great lifted face,

Where wisdom’s strength and beauty’s strength

And the thewed strength of large beasts

Moved and merged, gloomed and lit)

Was speaking, surely, as the earth-men’s earth fell away ;

Whose new hearing drank the sound

Where pictures, lutes, and mountains mixed

With the loosed spirit of a thought, Essenced to language thus
‘My sisters force their males

From the doomed earth, from the doomed glee

And hankering of hearts.

Frail hands gleam up through the human quagmire, and lips of ash

Seem to wail, as in sad faded paintings

Far-sunken and strange.

My sisters have their males

Clean of the dust of old days

That clings about those white hands

And yearns in those voices sad :

But these shall not see them,

Or think of them in any days or years ;

They are my sisters’ lovers in other days and years.’ 

Poem – The Promises of the Covenant of Grace

Hymn 9 

Isa. 55:1,2; Zech. 13:1; Mic. 7:19; Ezek. 36:25, etc.
In vain we lavish out our lives

To gather empty wind;

The choicest blessings earth can yield

Will starve a hungry mind.
Come, and the Lord shall feed our souls

With more substantial meat,

With such as saints in glory love,

With such as angels eat.
Our God will every want supply,

And fill our hearts with peace;

He gives by cov’nant and by oath

The riches of his grace.
Come, and he’ll cleanse our spotted souls,

And wash away our stains

In the dear fountain that his Son

Poured from his dying veins.
[Our guilt shall vanish all away,

Though black as hell before;

Our sins shall sink beneath the sea,

And shall be found no more.
And, lest pollution should o’erspread

Our inward powers again,

His Spirit shall bedew our souls,

Like purifying rain.]
Our heart, that flinty, stubborn thing,

That terrors cannot move,

That fears no threat’nings of his wrath,

Shall be dissolved by love.
Or he can take the flint away

That would not be refined;

And from the treasures of his grace

Bestow a softer mind.
There shall his sacred Spirit dwell,

And deep engrave his law,

And every motion of our souls

To swift obedience draw.
Thus will he pour salvation down,

And we shall render praise;

We the dear people of his love,

And he our God of grace. 

Poem – Youth and Judgment 

Hymn 89

Eccl. 11:9. 
Ye sons of Adam, vain and young,

Indulge your eyes, indulge your tongue,

Taste the delights your souls desire,

And give a loose to all your fire;
Pursue the pleasures you design,

And cheer your hearts with songs and wine;

Enjoy the day of mirth, but know

There is a day of judgment too.
God from on high beholds your thoughts,

His book records your secret faults;

The works of darkness you have done

Must all appear before the sun.
The vengeance to your follies due

Should strike your hearts with terror through:

How will you stand before his face,

Or answer for his injured grace?
Almighty God! turn off their eyes

From these alluring vanities;

And let the thunder of thy word

Awake their souls to fear the Lord. 

Poem – Life The Day of Grace and Hope

Hymn 88

Eccl. 9:4-6,10. 
Life is the time to serve the Lord,

The time t’ insure the great reward;

And while the lamp holds out to burn,

The vilest sinner may return.
[Life is the hour that God has giv’n

To ‘scape from hell and fly to heav’n;

The day of grace, and mortals may

Secure the blessings of the day.]
The living know that they must die,

But all the dead forgotten lie;

Their mem’ry and their sense is gone,

Alike unknowing and unknown.
[Their hatred and their love is lost,

Their envy buried in the dust;

They have no share in all that’s done

Beneath the circuit of the sun.]
Then what my thoughts design to do,

My hands, with all your might pursue;

Since no device nor work is found,

Nor faith, nor hope, beneath the ground.
There are no acts of pardon passed

In the cold grave, to which we haste;

But darkness, death, and long despair,

Reign in eternal silence there. 

Poem – Stupendous Love of God Most High

Hymn XXV

Stupendous love of God most high!

He comes to meet us from the sky

In mildest majesty;

Full of unutterable grace,

He calls the weary burdened race,

“Come all for help to me.” 
Tired with the greatness of my way,

From him I would no longer stray,

But rest in Jesus have;

Weary of sin, from sin would cease,

Weary of mine own righteousness,

And stoop, myself to save. 
Weary of passions unsubdued,

Weary of vows in vain renewed,

Of forms without the power,

Of prayers, and hopes, complaints, and groans,

My fainting soul in silence owns

I can hold out no more. 
Beneath this mountain load of grief,

Of guilt and desperate unbelief,

Jesus, thy creature see;

With all my nature’s weight oppressed,

I sink, I die for want of rest,

Yet cannot come to thee. 
Mine utter helplessness I feel;

But thou, who gav’st the feeble will,

The effectual grace supply;

Be thou my strength, my light, my way,

And bid my soul the call obey,

And to thy bosom fly. 
Fulfil thine own intense desire,

And now into my heart inspire

The power of faith and love;

Then, Saviour, then to thee I come,

And find on earth the life, the home,

The rest of saints above. 

Poem – Extended on a Cursed Tree


Extended on a cursed tree,

Besmeared with dust, and sweat, and blood,

See there, the king of glory see!

Sinks and expires the Son of God. 
Who, who, my Saviour, this hath done?

Who could thy sacred body wound?

No guilt thy spotless heart hath known,

No guile hath in thy lips been found. 
I, I alone, have done the deed!

‘Tis I thy sacred flesh have torn;

My sins have caused thee, Lord, to bleed,

Pointed the nail, and fixed the thorn. 
The burden, for me to sustain

Too great, on thee, my Lord, was laid;

To heal me, thou hast borne my pain;

To bless me, thou a curse wast made. 
In the devouring lion’s teeth,

Torn, and forsook of all, I lay;

Thou sprang’st into the jaws of death,

From death to save the helpless prey. 
Saviour how shall I proclaim?

How pay the mighty debt I owe?

Let all I have, and all I am,

Ceaseless to all thy glory show. 
Too much to thee I cannot give;

Too much I cannot do for thee;

Let all thy love, and all thy grief,

Graven on my heart for ever be! 
The meek, the still, the lowly mind,

O may I learn from thee, my God,

And love, with softest pity joined,

For those that trample on thy blood! 
Still let thy tears, thy groans, thy sighs,

O’erflow my eyes, and heave my breast,

Till loose from flesh and earth I rise,

And ever in thy bosom rest. 

Poem – Behold The Saviour of Mankind

Hymn XXII 

Behold the Saviour of mankind

Nailed to the shameful tree!

How vast the love that him inclined

To bleed and die for thee! 
Hark, how he groans! while nature shakes,

And earth’s strong pillars bend;

The temple’s veil in sunder breaks,

The solid marbles rend. 
‘Tis done! the precious ransom’s paid,

“Receive my soul,” he cries!

See where he bows his sacred head!

He bows his head, and dies! 
But soon he’ll break death’s envious chain,

And in full glory shine:

O Lamb of God! was ever pain,

Was ever love, like thine?

Poem – Ye Simple Souls That Stray 

Hymn XXI

Ye simple souls that strayFar from the path of peace,

That lonely, unfrequented way

To life and happiness,

Why will ye folly love,

And throng the downward road,

And hate the wisdom from above,

And mock the sons of God? 
Madness and misery

Ye count our life beneath;

And nothing great or good can see,

Or glorious, in our death:

As only born to grieve,

Beneath your feet we lie;

And utterly contemned we live,

And unlamented die. 
So wretched and obscure,

The men whom ye despise,

So foolish, impotent, and poor,

Above your scorn we rise:

We, through the Holy Ghost,

Can witness better things;

For He whose blood is all our boast

Hath made us priests and kings. 
Riches unsearchable

In Jesu’s love we know;

And pleasures, springing from the well

Of life, our souls o’erflow;

The Spirit we receive

Of wisdom, grace, and power;

And always sorrowful we live,

Rejoicing evermore. 
Angels our servants are,

And keep in all our ways,

And in their watchful hands they bear

The sacred souls of grace;

Unto that heavenly bliss

They all our steps attend;

And God himself our Father is,

And Jesus is our friend. 
With him we walk in white,

We in his image shine,

Our robes are robes of glorious light,

Our righteousness divine;

On all the kings of earth

With pity we look down,

And claim, in virtue of our birth,

A never-fading crown. 

Poem – Weary Souls That Wander Wide

Hymn XX

Weary souls, that wander wide

From the central point of bliss,

Turn to Jesus crucified,

Fly to those dear wounds of his:

Sink into the purple flood;

Rise into the life of God! 
Find in Christ the way of peace,

Peace unspeakable, unknown;

By his pain he gives you ease,

Life by his expiring groan;

Rise, exalted by his fall,

Find in Christ your all in all. 
O believe the record true,

God to you his Son hath give

Ye may now be happy too,

Find on earth the life of heaven,

Live the life of heaven above,

All the life of glorious love. 
This the universal bliss,

Bliss for every soul designed,

God’s original promise this,

God’s great gift to all mankind:

Blest in Christ this moment be!

Blest to all eternity! 

Poem – O for a Thousand Tongues to Sing

Hymn I

O for a thousand tongues to sing

My great Redeemer’s praise,

The glories of my God and King,

The triumphs of his grace! 
My gracious Master and my God,

Assist me to proclaim,

To spread through all the earth abroad

The honours of thy name. 
Jesus! the name that charms our fears,

That bids our sorrows cease;

‘Tis music in the sinner’s ears,

‘Tis life, and health, and peace. 
He breaks the power of cancelled sin,

He sets the prisoner free;

His blood can make the foulest clean,

His blood availed for me. 
He speaks, and, listening to his voice,

New life the dead receive,

The mournful, broken hearts rejoice,

The humble poor believe. 
Hear him, ye deaf; his praise, ye dumb,

Your loosened tongues employ;

Ye blind, behold your Saviour come,

And leap, ye lame, for joy. 
Look unto him, ye nations, own

Your God, ye fallen race;

Look, and be saved through faith alone,

Be justified by grace. 
See all your sins on Jesus laid:

The Lamb of God was slain,

His soul was once an offering made

For every soul of man. 
Awake from guilty nature’s sleep,

And Christ shall give you light,

Cast all your sins into the deep,

And wash the Æthiop white. 
With me, your chief, ye then shall know,

Shall feel your sins forgiven;

Anticipate your heaven below,

And own that love is heaven. 

Poem – The Ballade of Butterflies

Because we never build a nest

And no one of us ever sings,

We are the butt of every jest

That strutting loud-mouthed robin flings.

Unless the field with laughter rings

And we are meek in our replies

His claws and beak to bear he brings;

Have pity on all butterflies!
Since we are of no home possessed,

And have no joy in courts and kings,

And love on working-days to rest,

The name of ‘Idlers’ to us clings.

On all our gypsy travellings

They follow us with jeering cries.

From every rose a spider springs;

Have pity on all butterflies!
A little thing is our request- 

Some peace from nets of sticks and strings,

An hour to feel the sunlight’s zest,

To ‘scape the deadly bee that stings.

From hostile fortune’s bolts and slings

Give us release ere Summer dies- 

We dread the Winter’s threatenings;

Have pity on all butterflies!


Great Pan, kind lord of living things,

Look on us now with friendly eyes.

We pray to you on trembling wings,

Have pity on all butterflies! 

Poem – The Apartment House

Severe against the pleasant arc of sky

The great stone box is cruelly displayed.

The street becomes more dreary from its shade,

And vagrant breezes touch its walls and die.

Here sullen convicts in their chains might lie,

Or slaves toil dumbly at some dreary trade.

How worse than folly is their labor made

Who cleft the rocks that this might rise on high! 
Yet, as I look, I see a woman’s face

Gleam from a window far above the street.

This is a house of homes, a sacred place,

By human passion made divinely sweet.

How all the building thrills with sudden grace

Beneath the magic of Love’s golden feet! 

Poem – Thanksgiving 

The roar of the world is in my ears.

Thank God for the roar of the world!

Thank God for the mighty tide of fears

Against me always hurled!

Thank God for the bitter and ceaseless strife,

And the sting of His chastening rod!

Thank God for the stress and the pain of life,

And Oh, thank God for God! 

Poem – Stars

(For the Rev. James J. Daly, S. J.) 
Bright stars, yellow stars, flashing through the air,

Are you errant strands of Lady Mary’s hair?

As she slits the cloudy veil and bends down through,

Do you fall across her cheeks and over heaven too? 
Gay stars, little stars, you are little eyes,

Eyes of baby angels playing in the skies.

Now and then a winged child turns his merry face

Down toward the spinning world — what a funny place! 
Jesus Christ came from the Cross (Christ receive my soul!)

In each perfect hand and foot there was a bloody hole.

Four great iron spikes there were, red and never dry,

Michael plucked them from the Cross and set them in the sky. 
Christ’s Troop, Mary’s Guard, God’s own men,

Draw your swords and strike at Hell and strike again.

Every steel-born spark that flies where God’s battles are,

Flashes past the face of God, and is a star. 

Poem – St. Laurence 

Within the broken Vatican

The murdered Pope is lying dead.

The soldiers of Valerian

Their evil hands are wet and red. 
Unarmed, unmoved, St. Laurence waits,

His cassock is his only mail.

The troops of Hell have burst the gates,

But Christ is Lord, He shall prevail. 
They have encompassed him with steel,

They spit upon his gentle face,

He smiles and bleeds, nor will reveal

The Church’s hidden treasure-place. 
Ah, faithful steward, worthy knight,

Well hast thou done. Behold thy fee!

Since thou hast fought the goodly fight

A martyr’s death is fixed for thee. 
St. Laurence, pray for us to bear

The faith which glorifies thy name.

St. Laurence, pray for us to share

The wounds of Love’s consuming flame. 

Poem – Rouge Bouquet

In a wood they call the Rouge Bouquet 

There is a new-made grave to-day, 

Built by never a spade nor pick 

Yet covered with earth ten metres thick. 

There lie many fighting men, 

   Dead in their youthful prime, 

Never to laugh nor love again 

   Nor taste the Summertime. 

For Death came flying through the air 

And stopped his flight at the dugout stair, 

Touched his prey and left them there, 

   Clay to clay. 

He hid their bodies stealthily 

In the soil of the land they fought to free 

   And fled away. 

Now over the grave abrupt and clear 

   Three volleys ring; 

And perhaps their brave young spirits hear 

   The bugle sing: 

“Go to sleep! 

Go to sleep! 

Slumber well where the shell screamed and fell. 

Let your rifles rest on the muddy floor, 

You will not need them any more. 

Danger’s past; 

Now at last, 

Go to sleep!” 
There is on earth no worthier grave 

To hold the bodies of the brave 

Than this place of pain and pride 

Where they nobly fought and nobly died. 

Never fear but in the skies 

Saints and angels stand 

Smiling with their holy eyes 

On this new-come band. 

St. Michael’s sword darts through the air 

And touches the aureole on his hair 

As he sees them stand saluting there, 

   His stalwart sons; 

And Patrick, Brigid, Columkill 

Rejoice that in veins of warriors still 

   The Gael’s blood runs. 

And up to Heaven’s doorway floats, 

   From the wood called Rouge Bouquet, 

A delicate cloud of buglenotes 

   That softly say: 



Comrades true, born anew, peace to you! 

Your souls shall be where the heroes are 

And your memory shine like the morning-star. 

Brave and dear, 

Shield us here. 


Poem – Roses

I went to gather roses and twine them in a ring,

For I would make a posy, a posy for the King.

I got an hundred roses, the loveliest there be,

From the white rose vine and the pink rose bush and from the red 

rose tree.

But when I took my posy and laid it at His feet

I found He had His roses a million times more sweet.

There was a scarlet blossom upon each foot and hand,

And a great pink rose bloomed from His side for the healing of the 


Now of this fair and awful King there is this marvel told,

That He wears a crown of linked thorns instead of one of gold.

Where there are thorns are roses, and I saw a line of red,

A little wreath of roses around His radiant head.

A red rose is His Sacred Heart, a white rose is His face,

And His breath has turned the barren world to a rich and flowery 


He is the Rose of Sharon, His gardener am I,

And I shall drink His fragrance in Heaven when I die. 

Poem – Listen My Beautiful One

‘Listen, my beautiful one ‘, says Shri Hari, ‘I won’t ever leave your place!

There’s no girl like you at all with whose garland of flowers

Would I be tied!

‘Listen, my beautiful one!’ says Shri Hari, ‘I won’t ever leave your place!’

I am the lord with garland of creepers and you, a delicate flower vine,

I will water you with the nectar of my eyes,

With love will I enclose you and tend you

Holding you in my strong arms!

‘Listen, my beautiful one!’ says Shri Hari, ‘I won’t ever leave your place!

How lucky you are, my lovely one, and how fortunate! 

Is it because you have mastered some magic charm,

That I, who can untie the bonds of the fourteen worlds,

Am tied with your garland of flowers?

‘Listen my beautiful one,’ says Shri Hari, ‘I won’t ever leave your place!
I plead, proud one, please comply! 

Never ever will I leave your place, I swear!’ 

Narsaiyya’s Lord, brave and gallant

Passionately indulged in the battle of Love!

‘Listen my beautiful one, ‘ says Shri Hari, ‘I won’t ever leave your place!’ 

Poem – School of Love

Your love taught me how to grieve,

And for centuries I needed a woman to make me grieve,

I needed a woman

To make me cry on her shoulders like a bird,

I needed a woman to collect my pieces like broken glass.

Oh my lady, your love taught me the worst of my habits,

It taught me how to drink coffee a thousand times every night,

It taught me how to visit doctors and ask soothsayers,

It taught me to go out to scan the streets,

To seek your face in the rain and in the lights,

To chase your shadow in the faces of strangers,

To hunt your aura even in the newspapers!

Your love showed me the sadness city,

Which I have never entered ere you,

I have never known that the tear is humane,
And the human without tears is just a memory!

Your love taught me

How to draw your face on the walls with chalk like kids,

It taught me how love can change the map of times,

It taught me that when I love,

The earth stands still!

Your love showed me what hallucination is,

It taught me how to love you in every little thing,

In the bare, autumn trees,

In the falling, yellow leafs,

In the rain,

In every cafeteria in which we drank our black coffee,

My lady, your love taught me to sleep in nameless hotels,

And to sit by nameless shores,

It taught me to weep without tears,

Your love taught me how to grieve,

And for centuries I needed a woman to make me grieve,

I needed a woman

To make me cry on her shoulders like a bird,

I needed a woman to collect my pieces like broken glass, 

Poem – My Angry Cat 

You’re repeating yourself

for the twentieth time.

Is there another man in my life? 

Yes. Yes. What did you think? 

Even graveyards have visitors.

There are, my dear sir,

a lot of men out there,

and no garden is ever devoid of birds.

You’re just an experience I had,

and here I am,

tired and bored from this experience,

out from under your spell.

I’m cured of all

my weakness and gullibility.

Niceties do, after all, always end.

You love me! 

There you go again,

dredging up all that ancient history.

And since when did you ever show

the slightest interest in me

outside the contour of my hips? 

Where does this sudden gush of love come from? 

I was never anything more

than a forsaken chair

among your expensive furniture,

a garden you chose to raze

without shame or repentance.

Why are you staring at my breasts

as if you owned them? 

And why do you weep as if you

stood before a lost kingdom? 

Your glorious kingdom, dear sir,

has just crumbled.

There. I’ve settled my score

in an instant.

You tell me now

who’s losing the game.

I opened myself to you

like the Garden of Eden,

gave you all the sweet fruit

and green grass you desired.

Today I offer you

neither heaven nor hell.

This is what you get

for acting the ungrateful.

You faithless. If you’d only treated me

like a human being – just once –

this other man wouldn’t exist. 

Poem – Great is The Wealth of Bhakti 

Great is the wealth of Bhakti found only on the earth, 

Not found even in the realms of Brahma!

By living a virtuous life, even if you attain

The land of immortality, you will inevitably end up

In the inexorable cycles of birth and rebirth!

Great is the wealth of Bhakti found only on the earth, 

Not found even in the realms of Brahma!
Those who love Hari long not for the ultimate release,

Instead, they desire to be born over again

To sing forever, to dance forever,

To celebrate forever and to gaze forever at Nanda’s darling!

Great is the wealth of Bhakti found only on the earth, 

Not found even in the realms of Brahma!
Blessed indeed is the soul born in land of Bharat 

And sings the praises of Govind;

Blessed are his parents for he alone has made his birth a success!

Great is the wealth of Bhakti found only on the earth, 

Not found even in the realms of Brahma!
Blessed is the land of Vraj, blessed is his eternal sport,

Blessed are the people of Vraj as eight magical powers

Wait at their doorsteps and Mukti becomes their maid!

Great is the wealth of Bhakti found only on the earth, 

Not found even in the realms of Brahma!
Shanker and Shukajogi know the taste of this nectar,

So do the girls of Vraj, says Narsinh, who relishes of this nectar.

Great is the wealth of Bhakti found only on the earth, 

Not found even in the realms of Brahma! 

Poem – Gimme That Moon to Play With

`Gimme that moon to play with, Ma! Gimme those stars! 

Gimme those clusters and stuff them all in my pocket!’ 
He flushes, he cries, he stares at the moon

Jasoda wipes his tears, ‘Don’t be so crazy, Kanha!

The moon is far up in the sky! There are kids in every house,

You alone don’t seem to have any sense!’

`Gimme that moon to play with, Ma! Gimme those stars!

Gimme those clusters and stuff them all in my pocket!’
Taking water in a bowl, she showed him the moon

And consoled Narsaiyya’s Lord!

`Gimme that moon to play with, Ma! Gimme those stars!

Gimme those clusters and stuff them all in my pocket!’ 

Poem – Fair One In the Middle of the Night

Fair one, in the middle of the night,

How your jingling anklets chime!

You have woken up the whole town

With melodious jingling of your anklets!

Fair one, in the middle of the night,

How your jingling anklets chime!
‘I came back after vainly groping in the bed,

For I found my beloved asleep with a girl next door!

One after other girl my beloved enjoys!

Surely, this is not what we expect

From some one very much our own!

Fair one, in the middle of the night,

How your jingling anklets chime!
‘At the most we can cover a well

But how on earth do you cover an ocean?

If he were merely a man of our fancy

We’d have shown him the door 

But how do you decline the man you have married!’

Fair one, in the middle of the night,

How your jingling anklets chime!
‘In my garden the mango tree has blossomed

And mangoes ripe are dripping with nectar!

Wake up and relish them, my slender Lord,

I’ll pluck them for you and you enjoy!’

Fair one, in the middle of the night, 

how your jingling anklets chime!
‘In my garden are juicy grapes,

sumptuous citrus fruits, and betel vines,

O Narsaiyya’s Lord come to my place

For my heart is tender and mad!’

Fair one, in the middle of the night,

How your jingling anklets chime! 

Poem – Essence of Essence is the Birth of the Weaker Sex

Essence of essence is the birth of the weaker sex,

For her strength alone can please the mighty hero!

What’s the use of this manliness, friend,

When it is of no use to the lord at all?

Essence of essence is the birth of the weaker sex!
A man might attain the ultimate release,

If he sticks to the path of virtue,

But to indulge in the scrumptious joys of pretended anger 

And the lord pleading to make up and other such games,

You simply have to be a woman!

Essence of essence is the birth of the weaker sex!

For her strength can please the mighty hero!
Even the gods like Indra and the great sages

Revere the very dust of gopis’ feet,

Considering themselves lesser than the gopis

As they find their manhood insipid!

Essence of essence the birth of the weaker sex,

For her strength can please the mighty hero!
Woman, the treasure trove of fortune

Experiences and enjoys all day and night

The very nectar, the Vedas and the Scriptures

Struggle to express!

Essence of essence is the birth of the weaker sex!
Let my dreams come true

My dark one, my lifter of the mountain, life of my life!

For just like the master dragging the meek beast

The leash of love draws Narsinh!

Essence of essence is the birth of the weaker sex,

For her strength can please the mighty hero! 

Poem – Enjoy This Girl And Celebrate The Night

Enjoy this girl and celebrate the night!

Why are you still fast asleep?

In no time will it dawn,

Soon you’ll be off into the woods

Yodeling with your cowherd friends!

Enjoy this girl and celebrate the night!
Inviting is the bed, nectarous is the girl,

Luscious are her breasts overflowing from her choli!

Though the girl is tender, her breasts are firm

They’ll jab you when you embrace!

Enjoy the girl and celebrate the night!

Why are you still fast asleep?
Though he is small, he is matchless in beauty,

Yet as mighty as an untamed lion is our lustful Lord!

O gem of a gallant is the Narsaiyya’s Lord,

In meeting him, the ravishing maiden attained the ultimate bliss.

Enjoy the girl and celebrate the night!

Why are you still fast asleep? 

Poem – Jogging

We stood in columns

 like sheep before slaughter 

we ran, breathless 

We scrambled to kiss 

the shoes of the killers. . . . 

They stole Jesus the son of Mary 

while he was an infant still. 

They stole from us the memory of the orange trees 

and the apricots and the mint 

and the candles in the mosques. 

In our hands they left 

a sardine can called Gaza 

and a dry bone called Jericho. 

They left us a body with no bones 

A hand with no fingers. 

After this secret romance in Oslo 

we came out barren. 

They gave us a homeland 

smaller than a single grain of wheat 

a homeland to swallow without water 

like aspirin pills. 

Oh, we dreamed of a green peace 

and a white crescent 

and a blue sea. 

Now we find ourselves 

on a dung-heap. 

Poem – Jerusalem

I wept until my tears were dry

I prayed until the candles flickered

I knelt until the floor creaked

I asked about Mohammed and Christ

Oh Jerusalem, the fragrance of prophets

The shortest path between earth and sky

Oh Jerusalem, the citadel of laws

A beautiful child with fingers charred

and downcast eyes

You are the shady oasis passed by the Prophet

Your streets are melancholy

Your minarets are mourning

You, the young maiden dressed in black

Who rings the bells in the Nativity

On Saturday morning?

Who brings toys for the children

On Christmas eve?

Oh Jerusalem, the city of sorrow

A big tear wandering in the eye

Who will halt the aggression

On you, the pearl of religions?

Who will wash your bloody walls?

Who will safeguard the Bible?

Who will rescue the Quran?

Who will save Christ?

Who will save man?

Oh Jerusalem my town

Oh Jerusalem my love

Tomorrow the lemon trees will blossom

And the olive trees will rejoice

Your eyes will dance

The migrant pigeons will return

To your sacred roofs

And your children will play again

And fathers and sons will meet

On your rosy hills

My town

The town of peace and olives. 

Poem – Ah Silly Pug Wert Thou So Sore Afraid

Ah, silly Pug, wert thou so sore afraid? 

Mourn not, my Wat, nor be thou so dismayed. 

It passeth fickle Fortune’s power and skill 

To force my heart to think thee any ill. 

No Fortune base, thou sayest, shall alter thee? 

And may so blind a witch so conquer me? 

No, no, my Pug, though Fortune were not blind, 

Assure thyself she could not rule my mind. 

Fortune, I know, sometimes doth conquer kings, 

And rules and reigns on earth and earthly things, 

But never think Fortune can bear the sway 

If virtue watch, and will her not obey. 

Ne chose I thee by fickle Fortune’s rede, 

Ne she shall force me alter with such speed 

But if to try this mistress’ jest with thee. 

Pull up thy heart, suppress thy brackish tears, 

Torment thee not, but put away thy fears. 

Dead to all joys and living unto woe, 

Slain quite by her that ne’er gave wise men blow, 

Revive again and live without all dread, 

The less afraid, the better thou shalt speed. 

Poem – The Consecration 

Joy! joy in bright Ayodhya gladness filled the hearts of all,

Joy! joy a lofty music sounded in the royal hall,
Fourteen years of woe were ended, Rama now assumed his own,

And they placed the weary wand’rer on his father’s ancient throne,
And they brought the sacred water from each distant stream and hill,

From the vast and boundless ocean, from each far and sacred rill.
Vasishtha, the Bard of Vedas with auspicious rites and meet

Placed the monarch and his consort on the gemmed and jewelled seat,
Gautama. and Katyayana, Vamadeva priest of yore,

Jabali and wise Vijaya verged in holy ancient lore,
Poured the fresh and fraurant water on the consecrated kine,

As the Gods anointed INDRA from the pure ethereal spring!
Vedic priests with sacred mantra, dark-eyed virgins with their song,

Warriors girt in arms and weapons round the crownéd monarch throng,
Juices from each fragrant creeper on his royal brow they place,

And his father’s crown and jewels Rama’s ample forehead grace,
And as Manu, first of monarchs, was enthroned in days of yore,

So was Rama consecrated by the priests of Vedic lore!
Brave Satrughna on his brother cast the white umbrella’s shade

Bold Sugriva and Bibhishan waved the chowri gem-inlaid,
VAYU, God of gentle zephyrs, gift of golden garland lent,

INDRA, God of rain and sunshine, wreath of pearls to Rama sent,
Gay Gandharvas raised the music, fair Apsaras formed the ring,

Men in nations hailed their Rama as their lord and righteous king!
And tis told by ancient sages, during Rama’s happy reign,

Death untimely, dire diseases came not to his subject men,
Widows wept not in their sorrow for their lords untimely lost,

Mothers wailed not in their anguish for their babes by YAMA crost,
Robbers, cheats, and gay deceivers tempted not with lying word,

Neighbour loved his righteous neighbour and the people loved their lord!
Trees their ample produce yielded as returning seasons went,

And the earth in grateful gladness never failing harvest lent,
Rains descended in their season, never came the blighting gale,

Rich in crop and rich in pasture was each soft and smiling vale,
Loom and anvil gave their produce and the tilled and fertile soil,

And the nation lived rejoicing in their old ancestral. 

Poem – The City Decorated 

With his consort pious Rama, pure in deed and pure in thought,

After evening’s due ablutions NARAYANA’S chamber sought,
Prayed unto the Lord of Creatures, NARAYANA Ancient Sire,

Placed his offering on his forehead, poured it on the lighted fire,
Piously partook the remnant, sought for NARAYANA’S aid,

As he kept his fast and vigils on the grass of kusa spread.
With her lord the saintly Sita silent passed the sacred night,

Contemplating World’s Preserver, Lord of Heaven’s ethereal height,
And within the sacred chamber on the grass of kusa lay,

Till the crimson streaks of morning, ushered in the festive day,
Till the royal bards and minstrels chanted forth the morning call,

Healing through the holy chamber, echoing through the roval hall.
Past the night of sacred vigils, in his silken robes arrayed,

Message of the proud anointment Rama to the Brahmans said,
And the Brahmans spake to burghers that the festive day was come,

Till the mart and crowded pathway rang with note of pipe and drum,
And the townsmen heard rejoicing of the vigils of the night,

Kept by Rama and by Sita, for the day’s auspicious rite.
Rama shall be Heir and Regent, Rama shall be crowned to-day,

Rapid flew the gladdening message with the morning’s gladsome ray,
And the people of the city, maid and matron, man and boy,

Decorated fair Ayodhya in their wild tumultuous joy!
On the temple’s lofty steeple high as cloud above the air,

On the crossing of the pathways, in the garden green and fair,
On the merchant’s ample warehouse, on the shop with stores displayed,

On the mansion of the noble by the cunning artist made,
On the gay and bright pavilion, on the high and shady trees.

Banners rose and glittering streamers, flags that fluttered in the breeze!
Actors gay and nimble dancers, singers skilled in lightsome song,

With their antics and their music pleased the gay and gathered throng,
And the people met in conclaves, spake of Rama, Regent Heir,

And the children by the roadside lisped of Rama brave and fair!
Women wove the scented garland, merry maids the censer lit,

Men with broom and sprinkled water swept the spacious mart and street,
Rows of trees and posts they planted hung with lamps for coming night,

That the midnight dark might rival splendour of the noonday light
Troops of men and merry children laboured with a loving care,

Woman’s skill and woman’s fancy made the city passing fair,
So that good and kindly Rama might his people’s toil approve,

So that sweet and soft-eyed Sita might accept her people’s love!
Groups of joyous townsmen gathered in the square or lofty hall,

Praised the monarch Dasa-ratha, regent Rama young and tall:
‘Great and good is Dasa-ratha born of Raghu’s royal race,

In the fulness of his lifetime on his son he grants his grace,
And we hail the rite auspicious for our prince of peerless might,

He will guard us by his valotir, he will save our cherished right,
Dear unto his loving brothers in his father’s palace hall,

As is Rama to his brothers dear is Rama to us all,
Long live ancient Dasa-ratha king of Raghu’s royal race,

We shall see his son anointed by his father’s righteous grace!
Thus of Rama’s consecration spake the burghers one and all,

And the men from distant hamlets poured within the city wall,
From the confines of the empire, north and south and west and east,

Came to see the consecration and to share the royal feast!
And the rolling tide of nations raised their voices loud and high,

Like the tide of sounding ocean when the full moon lights the sky,
And Ayodhya thronged by people from the hamlet , mart and lea,

Was tumultuous like the ocean thronged by creatures of the sea! 

Poem – Surpa Yarua Punished 

Rama heard her impious purpose and a gentle smile repressed,

To the foul and forward female thus his mocking words addressed:
‘List, O passion-smitten maiden! Sita is my honoured wife,

With a rival loved and cherished cruel were thy wedded life!
But no consort follows Lakshman, peerless is his comely face,

Dauntless is his warlike valour, matchless is his courtly grace,
And he leads no wife or consort to this darksome woodland grove,

With no rival to thy passion seek his ample-hearted love! ‘
Surpa-nakha passion-laden then on Lakshman turned her eye,

But in merry mocking accents smiling Lakshman made reply.
Ruddy in thy youthful beauty like the lotus in her pride,

I am slave of royal Rama, would’st thou be a vassal’s bride?
Rather be his younger consort, banish Sita from his arms,

Spurning Sita’s faded beauty let him seek thy fresher charms,
Spurning Sita’s faded graces let him brighter pleasures prove,

Wearied with a woman’s dalliance let him court a Raksha’s love!’
Wrath of unrequited passion raged like madness in her breast,

Torn by anger strong as tempest thus her answer she addrest:
Are these mocking accents uttered, Rama, to insult my flame,

Feasting on her faded beauty dost thou still revere thy dame?
But beware a Raksha’s fury and an injured female’s wrath,

Surpa-nakha slays thy consort, bears no rival in her path!’
Fawn-eyed Sita fell in terror as the Raksha rose to slay,

So beneath the flaming meteor sinks Rohini’s softer ray,
And like Demon of Destruction furious Surpa -nakha came,

Rama rose to stop the slaughter and protect his helpless dame.
‘Brother, we have acted wrongly, for with those of savage breed,

Word in jest is courting danger,-this the penance of our deed,
Death perchance or death-like stupor hovers o’er my lovéd dame,

Let me wake to life my Sita, chase this female void of shame!’
Lakshman’s anger leaped like lightning as the female hovered near.

With his sword the wrathful warrior cleft her nose and either ear,
Surpa-nakha in her anguish raised her accents shrill and high,

And the rocks and wooded valleys answered back the dismal cry,
Khara and the doughty Dushan heard the far-resounding wail,

Saw her red disfigured visage, heard her sad and woeful tale! 

Poem – Oh Fortune

Oh, Fortune! how thy restlesse wavering state

Hath fraught with cares my troubled witt!

Witnes this present prisonn, whither fate

Could beare me, and the joys I quitt.

Thou causedest the guiltie to be losed

From bandes, wherein are innocents inclosed:

Causing the guiltles to be straite reserved,

And freeing those that death had well deserved.

But by her envie can be nothing wroughte,

So God send to my foes all they have thoughte.
signed – A. D. MDLV.

Elizabethe, Prisonner. 

Poem – Saints, We are the Traders of Rama’s Name

Saints, we are the traders of Rama’s name!

Merchants from distant villages come to us

Saints, we are the traders of Rama’s name!

Our goods happen to be modest and to everyone’s taste;

All castes come to us for purchase.

Saints, we are the traders of Rama’s name!
Unlimited are our assets;

Why should we deal merely in millions or billions?

It is pure musk, buy it if you want-its sure bargain!

Saints, we are the traders of Rama’s name!
To enter the name of Laxmi’s beloved in the ledger 

And jot down the name of Chaturbhuj in a chit – that’s Narsaiyya’s job!

Saints, we are the traders in Rama’s name! 

Poem – Recite O Parrot King Rama’s Name 

Recite O parrot King Rama’s name! Sati Sita instructs.

Dangling the cage near her, she makes him rehearse.

‘ I will have green bamboo shoots fetched,

I will make a pretty cage and deck it with exquisite jewels!

Recite O parrot King Rama’s name!’ Sati Sita instructs.
O parrot! I will have delicious bread crumble made for you

And I will serve you with sugar and ghee!

What else, O parrot will I order for you?

Recite O parrot King Rama’s name!’ Sati Sita instructs.
Yellow are his wings, pale his feet and a black band decks his throat

O with his own little tune, he worships Narsaiyya’s Lord!

Recite O parrot King Rama’s name! Sati Sita instructs. 

Poem – Ravishing Is Her Youth Dear

Ravishing is her youth dear, for she has ensnared the lord of Yadus!

In the bed, rapturously she took him on her breast.

Ravishing is her youth dear, for she has ensnared the lord of Yadus!

Unrestrained, she was with the dark one at amorous play!

In inner union, she tasted the nectar of his lips.

Ravishing is her youth dear, for she has ensnared the lord of Yadus! 

Never does he leave his love alone, wherever she looks he is always there!

Says Narsinh, by whom the lord stands by has no fear in the life.

Ravishing is her youth dear, for she has ensnared the lord of Yadus! 

Poem – Pointless It Is To Lament

Pointless it is to lament,

For it’s always the wish of the lord of the universe,

The world teacher that prevails!

Never is it as we wish it to be.

One who knows this is finally saved.

Pointless it is to lament!
To think that one is the real doer of the deeds

Is sheer ignorance

Like that of a dog trotting under the cart

And thinking that he is carrying the burden!

Indeed whole cosmos is ordered like this

Only a handful of yogis and seers know something of this!

Pointless it is to lament!
One will never grieve

If this Knowledge is born in him

For by killing Ignorance, his real Foe,

He can have only friends!

Be it a prince or a pauper

His royal cover shelters all!

One foolishly worries what is in store for him,

Vines, leaves and fruits grow spontaneously and on their own!

Pointless it is to lament!
The mundane pleasures are mere delusions

Nothing but Krishna is true!

Says Narsaiyyo, I pray with all my heart,

That I would be able to love Hari

In all my births to come!

Pointless it is to lament

For always, it’s the wish of the lord of the universe

The world teacher that prevails! 

Poem – Garadh 

FOR the poor body that I own

I could weep many a tear:

The days have stolen flesh and bone,

And left a changeling here.
Four feeble bones are left to me,

And the basket of my breast,

And I am mean and ugly now

As the scald flung from the nest.
The briars drag me at the knee,

The brambles go within,

And often do I feel him turn,

The old man in my skin.
The strength is carded from my bones,

The swiftness drained from me,

And all the living thoughts I had

Are like far ships at sea! 

Poem – Dermott Donn MacMorna 

ONE day you’ll come to my husband’s door,

Dermoit Donn MacMorna,

One day you’ll come to Hugh’s dark door,

And the pain at my heart will be no more,

Dermott Donn MacMorna!
From his bed, from his fire I’ll rise,

Dermott Donn MacMorna,

From the bed of Hugh, from his fire I’ll rise,

With my laugh for the pious, the quiet, the wise,

Dermott Donn MacMorna!
Lonesome, lonesome, the house of Hugh,

Dermott Donn MacMorna,

No cradle rocks in the house of Hugh;

The list’ning fire has thought of you,

Dermott Donn MacMorna!
Out of this loneliness we’ll go,

Dermott Donn MacMorna,

Together at last we two will go

Down a darkening road with a gleam below,

Ah, but the winds do bitter blow,

Dermott Donn MacMorna! 

Poem – Crows

THEN, suddenly, I was aware indeed

Of  what he said, and was revolving it:

How, in the night, crows often take to wing,

Rising from off the tree-tops in Drumbarr,

And flying on: I pictured what he told.
The crows that shake the night-damp off their wings

Upon the stones out yonder in the fields,

The first live things that we see in the mornings;

The crows that march across the fields, that sit

Upon the ash-trees’ branches, that fly home

And crowd the elm-tops over in Drumbarr;

The crows we look on at all hours of light,

Growing, and full, and going these black beings have

Another lifetime!
Crows flying in the dark

Blackness in darkness flying; beings unseen

Except by eyes that are like to their own

Trespassers’ eyes!
And you, old man, with eyes so quick and sharp,

Who’ve told me of the crows, my fosterer;

And you, old woman, upon whose lap I’ve lain

When I was taken from my mother’s lap;

And you, young girl, with looks that have come down

From forefathers, my kin ye have another life

I’ve glimpsed it, I becoming trespasser-

Blackness in darkness flying like the crows! 

Poem – Crane

I KNOW you, Crane:

I, too, have waited,

Waited until my heart

Melted to little pools around my feet!

Comer in the morning ere the crows,



Something find for me!

The pennies that were laid upon the eyes

Of old, wise men I knew.


The Little Fox 

THAT sidling creature is a little Fox:

Like other canine he is leashed and led;

He goes upon the sidewalk; houses tower;

Men trample; horses rear; he drags his leash.
Did not I

Once know a lad from Irrus where they leave

Mittens for foxes; where they invite

A fox to a child’s christening; where they have

Foxes as gossips to their boys and girls?
Would that a lad from Irrus now was here

To tell his gossip that a human creature

Has heart for him, and fain would cover up

His bowels of dread, and find some way to bring

His rainy hills around him, the soft grass,

Darkness of ragged hedges, and his earth

The black, damp earth under the roots of trees!

Would that a lad from Irrus now was here

Where houses tower and where horses rear! 

Poem – A Word of Numbers

To express truth

A word of numbers-

Not necessary.

But the worm of

Conscience is a must.
To continue the process

of dialogue, but

Transparency and trust

is a must.

Outcry has no value.
Show not your

Humdrumness at any time.

To hunt out the truth

is the call of life. 

Poem – A Word

O there is a word

You are to come

And take me away.
O there is a bird

Who comes to me

To see me how I am

Preparing myself

To face the time.
No word no bird

See here only the desert.

You are calling me

When I am enjoying

The dust and the dirt.
O my dear, 

Please come 

You are welcome

Just for the sake of the sun

Just for the sake of mart

And let us have a chat. 

Kati Chhan – Angels

Kati chhan yo mutu ma ghau 

Lukai rakhya chhu sandhai, sandhai 

Mero behoshi malai nai thaha chha 

Sunau kasa-lai  3 
Hridaya le hoina, aaja bholi maya 

Aanka le hundo rahe chha 

Ke maya launu, ke priti gansnu 

Dokha nai jivan ko lekha rahechha 

Lekha rahechha 

Kati chhan yo mutu ma ghau 

Lukai rakhya chhu sandhai, sandhai 

Mero behoshi malai nai thaha chha 

Sunau kasa-lai 3 
Abhi nai raichha, jutho nai raichha bhane 

Soche jhain ke hundo rahe chha 

Ke bhula bhayo, ke paapa bhayo 

Aakhir ma jivan, eak natak bhayo, natak bhayo 

Kati chhan yo mutu ma ghau 

Lukai rakhya chhu sandhai, sandhai 

Mero behoshi malai nai thaha chha 

Sunau kasa-lai 3 

Kati chhan yo mutu ma ghau 

Lukai rakhya chhu sandhai, sandhai 

Mero behoshi malai nai thaha chha 

Sunau kasa-lai  3 

Anjulima Lukayesi – Angels

Singer is Raju Lama 
(anjulimaa lukaayesi 

kasle po khojchha ra 

mutu bhitra sajaayesi 

kasle po bhetchha ra) 2 
(timi mero jindagaani 

saarthi timi hou) 2 

ukaali oraalimaa 

doryaaune timi hou 

nani bhitra raakhe pachhi 

kasle po herchha ra 

mutu bhitra sajaayesi 

kasle po bhetchha ra 
(timi mero saara khusi 

muskaan timi hou) 2 

niraasako bhel bhitra 

muhaan timi hou 

hridayamaa raakhe pachhi 

kasle po dekhchha ra 

mutu bhitra sajaayesi 

kasle po bhetchha ra 

anjulimaa lukaayesi 

kasle po khojchha ra 

mutu bhitra sajaayesi 

kasle po bhetchha ra