IN PRAISE OF PRESENT
Let future come, O! as it might.
In darkness hidden or with dazzling light,
And let the past remain buried deep,
Below the dormant hopes’ rising heap.
And let no past or future touch your brow,
And all connections with them disavow,
And live in present moment unsubdued,
And never on the past or future brood.
O! if you, with your present rightly cope,
And do not in the past or future grope,
Then unobstructed you will make a name,
For caution doesn’t ever win the game .
And only those who plunge in raging waves,
Can live like kings and not like cowering slaves.
On Poonam’s Growing Up
Your youth and with it care, thick as thinness
Have jarringly intruded in your play,
And every pore of papa hurts and grieves,
But this is what this life is anyway;
And why this life is so? I can not say:
The branches harden and the rustling leaves,
Will shed their brownish hues and one day,
In green attire spend their lovely eves.
I also had a doll and I am mad,
That youth and care came only yesterday,
You were my doll and I am very sad
take you far away.
You lost your doll of rags to youth and care,
But I am going to lose you Poonam dear.
A LLULABY FOR RASHAMI
You woke up in the middle of night.
Who stole your sleep, my lamb? May I know?
What demons did you, in your slumber fight
That sweat has broken on your lovely brow?
But will you tell me, What has woken you?
The cold of hills or desert’s scorching loo?
Or did you see your favorite golden mare,
Who saw you creeping tip-toe and then bolted?
Or have you seen a worrisome nightmare,
That you were, from your sleep, so rudely jolted?
The fairies and The demons have now vanished,
Somebody, this your mare, shall be caught,
But demons will be killed and mare caught,
You go to sleep, my lamb and worry not.
Two steadfast but unhappy constellations,
CASSIOPIA, Great Bear, though composed,
For tracing the pole star by calculations,
Yet in this common purpose are opposed,
In method and position; And likewise,
My fears and my hopes are contenders,
For you, my love, though in this exercise,
Are ever emulating, starry wonders.
Where hopes are shining brightly and ascending,
Then fears plummet, shamed and unloved;
When fears see the hopes fast descending,
They shoot upwards, but you remain unmoved,
Like pole star by the constant tribulations:
Of these two wandering steadfast (most unhappy)
TWENTY FOUR HOURS
You be a beggar or a great monarch,
Renowned intellectual or a pious sage.
You maybe in youth or you in old age
An insect you may be or a high soaring lark.
God, the great Owner, is impartial one,
He has no favorite, partiality eschews.
So without fail He every day renews
And hours twenty four denies to none.
You use them as you wish or as you may,
In sacred service or narcotic haze;
In laziness or in creature blaze.
He takes no notice gives them every day.
But just remember, listen, take account
That every moment, in the end does count.