The Welcome Of The Women Of Braj
'Tis morn, O Krishna, awake, all the pretty young milkmaids are calling for you; arise O Braj's prince, The sun is up in the sky, the moon pales, the tender tamala trees are in full bloom .
The women of Braj have stringed a garland of flowers of many kinds and wait to greet you. Arise dear child, wash your face and have your breakfast, O my heart's delight!
Says Sura, my Lord of large lotus-like eyes is the abode of bliss that never abates.
poem by Sant Surdas
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The Invigorating Dawn
Awake, O Krishna awake,
the night has gone arise,
no longer laze breathe the pure air of early morn;
the cowherd-lads come and gaze at you,
and seeing you asleep,
depart as swarms of bumblebees
fly from the lotus clusters.
O darling boy,
dark as the tamala,
if you don't believe me,
open your large eyes
and see for yourself.
poem by Sant Surdas
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Awake O! Prince Of Braj
Awake, Krishna,
awake the lotus-petals
open the water-lilies droop
the bumblebees have left
the creepers cocks crow,
and birds chirp on the trees.
The cows are in the byre lowing;
they run after their calves;
the moon fades before the sun.
Men and women arise
and joyfully sing their songs;
Krishna, of hands lotus-like awake,
for the day is about to dawn.
poem by Sant Surdas
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The Formless Brahma Has Incarnated As Krishna
Krishna awoke;
Yashoda was enraptured to see his face blooming as a lotus that captures the rising sun's first rays. Taking off the coverlet she said, 'awake, darling boy, awake, your loveliness makes me swoon your bewitching face is like the full moon seen through the sea's foam when it was churned for nectar.'
He for whom the Shrutis say 'not this, not this? whose name is chanted by Brahma, Shesha and Shiva that Formless Brahma has taken birth in Braj, in human form, so 'tis heard.
poem by Sant Surdas
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Nanda's Darling Child
Who can contain his joy, say, on seeing the lotus-like lovely face of Nanda's darling child when he awakes?
His beauty infatuates sages,and destroys the pride of Kama, it captivates the hearts of hundreds of young girls. When he softly smiles the gleam of his teeth seems as though rubies have been stringed with pearls.
When my Lord, Nanda's lovely child goes out, says Suradasa, the people of Braj are bewitched by his loveliness.
poem by Sant Surdas
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Krishna Approaches Radha
Krishna said, 'O fair beauty, who are you?
Where do you live? Whose daughter are you?
I never yet saw you in the lanes of Braj.'
Radha said, 'What need have I to come this way?
I keep playing by my door.
But I hear that some son of Nanda
is in the habit of stealing butter and curds.'
Krishna said, 'Look, why should I appropriate
anything that's yours? Come, let's play together.'
Suradasa says: By his honied words,
Krishna, the crafty prince of amorists,
beguiled Radha and put her at ease.
poem by Sant Surdas
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O I saw witchcraft tonight
O I saw witchcraft tonight
in the region of Braj.
A milking girl going her rounds,
a pot on her head,
came face to face with the Dark One.
My friend, she is babbling,
can no longer say "buttermilk."
- Come get the Dark One, the Dark One!
A pot full of Shyam! -
In the overgrown lanes
of Vrindavan forest
the Enchanter of Hearts fixed his
eye on this girl,
then departed.
Mira's lord is hot, lovely
and raven -
tonight she saw witchcraft
at Braj.
[Translated by Robert Bly]
The First Meeting Of Radha And Krishna
Krishna went playing in the lanes of Braj,
a yellow silk garment round his waist,
holding a top and a string to spin it with,
a crown of peacock-feathers adorning his head
his ears with charming ear-rings decked,
his teeth flashing brighter than the sun's rays,
his limbs anointed with sandalwood-paste.
On the Yamuna bank he chanced to see Radha;
a tika mark of turmeric on her brow,
dressed in a flowing skirt and blue blouse,
her lovely long wreathed hair dangling behind,
a stripling, fair, of beauty unsurpassed
with he a bevy of fair milkmaids:
Krishna's eyes met her's;
love woke in his heart,
says Suradasa, bewitched by her,
he gazed and gazed.
poem by Sant Surdas
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Hark! Hark! The Lark
Hark! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,
And Phoebus 'gins arise,
His steeds to water at those springs
On chalic'd flowers that lies;
And winking Mary-buds begin
To ope their golden eyes;
With everything that pretty is,
My lady sweet, arise:
Arise, arise!
poem by William Shakespeare
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That dark Dweller in Braj
That dark Dweller in Braj
Is my only refuge.
O my companion,
Worldly comfort is an illusion,
As soon you get it, it goes.
I have chosen the Indestructible for my refuge,
Him whom the snake of death
Will not devour.
My Beloved dwells in my heart,
I have actually seen that Abode of Joy.
Mira's Lord is Hari, the Indestructible.
My Lord, I have taken refuge with Thee,
Thy slave.
Krishna Awakes
Krishna awake, for the day has dawned:
large, deep and lotus-like,
your eyes are as in the love-shaped lake
a pair of swans even a million Kamadevas cannot vie
with the bewitching beauty of your face;
the sun rises in the east,
a crimson ball the night is going
and the moonlight pales
the lamps turn dim
and the stars fade out
as though the bright radiance of wisdom's rays
dispels the pleasures that the senses tire,
and the light of hope chases away
the murky darkness of despair and doubt.
Listen, the birds sing
aloud with glee O sweet child,
life of my life,
my sole wealth,
O darling boy,
bards and minstrels
sing your praises,
saying 'victory! victory!'
Clusters of lotuses burst into bloom
the bumblebees humming with sweet sound
leave the lotuses;
as though the devout renouncing worldly ties,
in your love drowned
chant your name as they go about.
Hearing his mother's words with love
drenched the Lord of Mercy arose from his bed;
the world's woes vanished,
maya's net was rent.
Says Suradasa,
'Seeing his lotus face delusion fled;
all doubts and dualities were destroyed and I found in Govinda eternal joy.
poem by Sant Surdas
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Armenian Folk-Song--The Partridge
As beats the sun from mountain crest,
With 'pretty, pretty',
Cometh the partridge from her nest;
The flowers threw kisses sweet to her
(For all the flowers that bloomed knew her);
Yet hasteneth she to mine and me--
Ah! pretty, pretty;
Ah! dear little partridge!
And when I hear the partridge cry
So pretty, pretty,
Upon the house-top, breakfast I;
She comes a-chirping far and wide,
And swinging from the mountain side--
I see and hear the dainty dear!
Ah! pretty, pretty;
Ah! dear little partridge!
Thy nest's inlaid with posies rare.
And pretty, pretty
Bloom violet, rose, and lily there;
The place is full of balmy dew
(The tears of flowers in love with you!)
And one and all impassioned call;
'O pretty, pretty--
O dear little partridge!'
Thy feathers they are soft and sleek--
So pretty, pretty!
Long is thy neck and small thy breast;
The color of thy plumage far
More bright than rainbow colors are!
Sweeter than dove is she I love--
My pretty, pretty--
My dear little partridge!
When comes the partridge from the tree,
So pretty, pretty!
And sings her little hymn to me,
Why, all the world is cheered thereby--
The heart leaps up into the eye,
And echo then gives back again
Our 'Pretty, pretty,'
Our 'Dear little partridge!'
Admitting the most blest of all
And pretty, pretty,
The birds come with thee at thy call;
In flocks they come and round they play,
And this is what they seem to say--
They say and sing, each feathered thing;
'Ah! pretty, pretty;
Ah! dear little partridge!'
poem by Eugene Field
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Aubade
HARK! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,
And Phoebus 'gins arise,
His steeds to water at those springs
On chaliced flowers that lies;
And winking Mary-buds begin
To ope their golden eyes:
With everything that pretty bin,
My lady sweet, arise!
Arise, arise!
poem by William Shakespeare
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The Dawning
Awake, sad heart, whom sorrow ever drowns ;
Take up thine eyes, which feed on earth ;
Unfold thy forehead, gathered into frowns ;
Thy Saviour comes, and with Him mirth :
Awake, awake,
And with a thankful heart His comforts take.
But thou dost still lament, and pine, and cry,
And feel His death, but not His victory.
Arise, sad heart ; if thou dost not withstand,
Christ's resurrection thine may be ;
Do not by hanging down break from the hand
Which, as it riseth, raiseth thee :
Arise, Arise;
And with His burial linen drie thine eyes.
Christ left His grave-clothes, that we might, when grief
Draws tears or blood, not want a handkerchief.
poem by George Herbert
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My Dove, My Beautiful One
My dove, my beautiful one,
Arise, arise!
The night-dew lies
Upon my lips and eyes.
The odorous winds are weaving
A music of sighs:
Arise, arise,
My dove, my beautiful one!
I wait by the cedar tree,
My sister, my love,
White breast of the dove,
My breast shall be your bed.
The pale dew lies
Like a veil on my head.
My fair one, my fair dove,
Arise, arise!
poem by James Joyce
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In The Harbour: A Fragment
Awake! arise! the hour is late!
Angels are knocking at thy door!
They are in haste and cannot wait,
And once departed come no more.
Awake! arise! the athlete's arm
Loses its strength by too much rest;
The fallow land, the untilled farm
Produces only weeds at best.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Pleasant to admire
My dear Honey!
Upon you, your radiant eyes,
Sharp nose, pouty lips,
Pointed chin and raised cheeks,
I focused my look.
You were illuminated,
But I was shaded,
‘Cause beams of light
Never illuminates the part
They arise from.
My dear Honey!
Into you, your hidden ear,
Slender neck, beating heart,
Throbbing lungs and tender ribs,
I shall sing a song.
It will resonate in you,
But won’t deafen me
‘Cause waves of sound
Would vibrate the parts
They arise from.
28.08.97
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Vaijayanti
What the flowers, what the flowers o'my Lord
Doeth cherish Thy garland
Flowers forest wild?
Strung up five elements, a loud chord
Whilst Pandavas and Kauravas
Clashed and crashed and crushed in thunders?
A kind otherwise different
Of a change fervent?
To Arjun Bhagavadatta's slaying vaishnavastra
Forbade Thy merciful neck; to Thine whirled a Vaijayantimaala?
Mother ours, Thy consort, Thy conscience
Sanctifying our flow of transcience
Variably altering Radha to Godha
Seethai to Kothai, Rukmini to Satyabhama
All but one Lakshmi when conjoined
Thy heart garlanding fragrance piled?
And those colours highly bewitching
Thy enchanting flute so matching
What a poise Thee and Thy Vaijayanti
Doeth look like Gopis resting on Thee
Else, gentle Alwars reciting Paasurams
Nestled Vaijayanti genuinely toes down in tassels
Each end velvety bearing on a blot
Me, Thy child a tiny dot
At thy lotus feet joyously feel
Myself soused in fragrant Vaijayanti whole
Jasmine and lily all varieties white
Lotus, rose, nerium all red and bright
Scented leaves of tender green delight
Yellow, blue, purple potpourri intrusively right
Interspersed with a leafy craft of nerium-parrot
Intertwined with entangled strands of basil
Thy vivid persona divine and tranquil
What else for doeth quest this soul mortal
Other than Thee Thy mercy immortal
O' Krishna, fasten me unto Thy lotus feet
My closure amid Thy mercy flowers tight
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Sleeping And Waking
I Had a dream-I lay upon thy breast,
In that sweet place where we lay long ago:
I thought the morning woodbine to and fro
With playful shadows whipped away my rest,
And in my sleep I cried to thee, too blest,
'Rise, oh my love, the morning sun is bright,
Let us arise, oh love, let us arise;
The flowers awake, the lark is in the skies,
I will array myself in my delight,
And we will-' and I woke to death and night!
poem by Sydney Thompson Dobell
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Vanaprasthiya
Their grandchild’s silken first hair
brushed with tender love;
their own hair, grey or white or gone;
household handed over to
their son, daughter, or
their spouse; now,
to find again themselves, to be themselves;
free, they walk the morning air of freedom
towards the woods; upon the way,
meet others of their age.
Trees - as every child knows
and old men may remember;
old women see through their own children's eyes -
listen with such silent wisdom,
that among the trees,
all become wise.
And so they, the honoured aged,
meet, acknowledge, greet,
speak as many words as truth may draw;
meditate; then, open eyes and every sense
teach, this is what a temple is;
this is what you are.
Evening stillness; then they return
to the hearth and warmth of family; as
a great grove of ancient, fresh-leafed trees
where in stillness soul meets nature
and finds truth arise.
*
[With thanks to Sunil Bhattacharya for some hints of history]
poem by Michael Shepherd
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A Rare Flower Blooms Only Once In a Blue Moon!
Just as Nature is an inspiration to spirit
Poetry is an inspiration to the heart ever!
Musical poems full of meaning delight all
Like the freshly blossomed flowers do to all!
Poems delight heart, inspire mind and
Elevate spirit to higher level ever in bliss!
Poems mean inspiration and delight to heart
That remain in mind ever to inspire soul ever!
Nature and poetry are reality and reflection
As Shakespeare did with his art of poems
Reflecting human life in all its totality ever
As rare flowers alive for all to enjoy ever!
Poems of such kind are flowers of rare variety
Such flowers bloom only once in a blue moon!
poem by Ramesh T A
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