hare krishna

Hare Krishna!

ATTITUDE

The noble idealist frets and fumes:
"I grope my way in vain in the gloom:
In this world, a labyrinth of thorns,
How can His flawless lotus bloom?"

The humble realist sings: "But I
Must kindle the lamp He's given to me:
I'd shed what little love's light I can
Rather than curse night endlessly."

..........From HARK ! HIS FLUTE ! By Dilip Kumar Roy(Dadaji).

Let us kindle the lamp He has given to us and shed little love's light to all.

Love,
Kumar.

 

Hare Krishna!

CRUCIFIXION

O Beloved of God! who, in compassion,
Camst down once to seek birth
In our discord's den - with Song's invasion
To transform the din of earth,

And preach thy sky-love's gospel to clay
And the heavy-laden to invite
To rest in thy sweet lap, for aye,
Where love is one with light.

We cry and cry, desolate, for Bliss,
But when the Boon is sent,
Carried by thee, His son, we hiss
Away the firmament,

O how we, doting on our cage,
Blaspheme thy Bounty's sky
And when thy Grace still calls, in rage,
Alas, thee crucify !

.........From "HARK ! HIS FLUTE !" ....By Dilip Kumar Roy(Dadaji).

Lord Jesus is still here with us with all His blessings and eternal love for us, let us understand and not hiss away the firmament anymore.

Love,
Kumar

 

Hare Krishna!

THE CONDITION

I long to touch, I yearn to see,
I ache to clasp and hold.
But when my hands I stretch to thee,
I find my heart's still cold.

Can we by merely clamouring
Thy angel boons receive,
Unless to thee we pray and sing
And like a child believe

That thou, our one Friend Evergreen,
Answerest when we cry
And wouldst resolve our world's deep din
If for thy Grace we sigh ?

I'll find thee, Lord, when I will lay
At thy feet all I call mine;
For then on me thou'lt smile and say
That now, at last, I'm thine.

........From "HARK! HIS FLUTE!"......By Dilip Kumar Roy(Dadaji)

Let us believe like a child, chant His name and surrender all that we call ours, to find and see Him.

Love,
Kumar.

 

Three very nice pieces - thanks gdk - and for your own comments.

It's a shame that the works of Dilip Kumar Roy aren't better known and more widely available in Europe and America.

Jai Govinda!

 

Hare Krishna!

Thank you Kumar for those wonderful poems...I would really like to find that book and read more. I esp. liked the second two (not that the first one wasn't absolutely amazing)... Thank you for sharing them with all of us...

*Peace and Love*
Nicole

 

The Blossom Never Knows

The blossom never knows the fragrance sweet

That in its blossom’s mystery lies,

The deeps that mirror forth the Infinite

Question its secrets with their sighs.



For whom throng still the murmuring bees,

Restless amid the perfumed trees?

Whose memory thrills the impassioned breeze

And paints the magic skies?



Whose one lamps through the way-lost night

Glimmer in moon and starry light?

Whose glory in the dawn breaks bright?

For whom yearns all and cries?

For whose greatness down the ages long

Are the wide heavens a sapphire song?

For whom runs the stream with bablling tongue,

Repeats whose harmonies?



Whose breath perfumes trees, flower and grass,

Inspires the atoms’s dance in space?

Whose trailing robes in twilight pass,

A shadow in longing eyes?



Oh, if thou never wilt appear,

Why are thy masks of Beauty here?

Why sound thy anklets everywhere,

The spell that never dies?

My heart forgets that in my heart

Thy throne for ever lies.





- Dilip Kumar Roy


From: Among the Great 1950: by Dilip Kumar Roy (out of print)

 

Heaven is right around the bend
but hell is close behind
the world woos you from all sides
beware. It is a deadly blind.

The road to tread is straight ahead
look not left nor right.
Steady legs! Droop not head!!
The end is within sight!!

The road is long and paved with nails
but the end is fair and sweet
for Krishna bhagawan is waiting there
Run!
Run!!
Run to His Lotus Feet!!!!

His skin glows, his flute blows,
poised upon his lips.
What a blessing for that piece of wood
to recieve Sri Hari's kiss!

From that flute there spreads a single note
"Come!! Come join my dance!!!"
O call divine!!! Leave all behind!!!
Don't waste this unique chance!!!

A human birth , is rare on Earth,
and swift from cradle to grave.
but this time, you shall be mine,
O my beloved Vasudev!!

 

Oh I like that very much Bhaskar. I could picture Krishna in my head calling the devotee to himself with his music.

 

Hope this won't seem out of place - it's one of my favourites.


Ah, Sun-flower!

Ah, Sun-flower! weary of time,
Who countest the steps of the sun;
Seeking after that sweet golden clime,
Where the traveller's journey is done;

Where the youth pined away with desire,
And the pale virgin shrouded in snow,
Arise from their graves, and aspire
Where my Sun-flower wishes to go.

William Blake.
'Songs of Experience'

 

Oo...I like that one. Its funny...I just took the Advanced Placement English Lit. test and the poetry question in the free response were poems by William Blake...they were both called "The Chimney Sweep" and the first one reminded me of the path of karma yoga (which ended up in my essay)...but I will stop rambling...lol...

 

I love William Blake, his poetry bears the scent of transcendent experience...

 

The Chimney Sweeper

William Blake

When my mother died I was very young,
And my father sold me while yet my tongue,
Could scarcely cry weep weep weep weep,
So your chimneys I sweep & in soot I sleep.

There's little Tom Dacre, who cried when his head
That curled like a lambs back was shav’d, so I said.
Hush Tom never mind it, for when your head’s bare,
You know that the soot cannot spoil your white hair

And so he was quiet. & that very night.
As Tom was a sleeping he had such a sight
That thousands of sweepers Dick, Joe, Ned, & Jack
Were all of them lock’d up in coffins of black,

And by came an Angel who had a bright key
And he open’d the coffins & set them all free.
Then down a green plain leaping laughing they run
And wash in a river and shine in the Sun.

Then naked & white, all their bags left behind.
They rise upon clouds, and sport in the wind.
And the Angel told Tom, if he’d be a good boy,
He’d have God for his father & never want joy.

And so Tom awoke and we rose in the dark
And got with our bags & our brushes to work.
Tho’ the morning was cold,
Tom was happy & warm
So if all do their duty, they need not fear harm.

Online text © 1998-2005 Poetry X. All rights reserved.
From Songs of Innocence | 1789

 

...and as the seekers and devotees of bhagavan pined for union with him,

bhagavan api ta ratriih
sharadotphulla mallikaha
vikshayantum manashchakre
yogamayamupashritaha

Bhagawan Sri Krishna, during those beautiful autumn nights, when the breeze carried the scent of freshly blooming jasmine, also made up His mind to consummate their devotion and employed his yogic creative power to fulfil theyr yearning.

Thus begins the beautiful raasa panchadhyayi, the five chapters of Srimad Bhagawat Puranam which describe the raasa leela, the dance of love between bhagawan and devotees.

 

The Price of Experience.

What is the price of experience? do men buy it for
a song,
Or wisdom for a dance in the street? No! it is
bought with the price
Of all that man hath - his house, his wife, his
children.
Wisdom is sold in the desolate market where none
come to buy,
And in the withered field where the farmer ploughs
for bread in vain.

It is an easy thing to triumph in the summer's sun,
And in the vintage, and to sing on the wagon loaded
with corn.
It is an easy thing to talk of patience to the afflicted,
To speak the laws of prudence to the houseless wanderer,
To listen to the hungry Raven's cry in wintry season,
When the red blood is filled with wine, and with the
marrow of lambs:
It is an easy thing to laugh at wrathful elements;
To hear the dog howl at the wintry door, the ox in the
slaughter house moan;
To see a god on every wind, and a blessing on every
blast;
To hear sounds of love in the thunder storm, that
destroys our enemies' house,
To rejoice in the blight that covers his field, and the
sickness that cuts off his children,
While our olive and vine sing and laugh round our
door, and our children bring fruits and flowers.

Then the groan and the dolor are quite forgotten,
and the slave grinding at the mill.
And the captive in chains, and the poor in the prison,
and the soldier in the field,
When the shatter'd bone hath left him groaning
among the happier dead;
It is an easy thing to rejoice in the tents of prosperity -
Thus could I sing, and thus rejoice; but it is not so
with me.

William Blake
'The Four Zoas'

 

I too love Blake.
To me, he is a great inspiration. My favourite English poet. Almost like a friend...

There is no doubting that he was an extraordinary visionary, possesed of an almost titanic energy. A great lover of Jesus Christ, and a great artist.
In my opinion, one of the greatest Englishmen.

 

Another poet with flashes of divinity, which unfortunately faded later in his life, was William Worsdworth.

 

Wordsworth was great.
Greater still though as a romantic poet ( a category sometimes applied to Blake, which is not appropriate in his case) was Shelly. But worsworth is probably more accessible to to-day's readers. Myself, I'm not a great fan of Wordsworth, although of course I acknowledge his undoubted genius - just not my taste. See Lord Byrons 'English Bards and Scotch Reviewers'. Byron states exactly my own reasons for not liking Wordsworth.

 

Oh yes, how could I forget Shelley... His words dripped with beauty, although his poetry was not as metaphysical, it was more romantic.

 

Quest For God

O'ver hill and dale and mountain range,
In temple, church, and mosque,
In Vedas, Bible, Al Koran
I had searched for Thee in vain.
Like a child in the wildest forest lost
I have cried and cried alone,
"Where art Thou gone, my God, my love?
The echo answered, "gone."

And days and nights and years then passed
A fire was in the brain,
I knew not when day changed in night
The heart seemed rent in twain.
I laid me down on Ganges's shore,
Exposed to sun and rain;
With burning tears I laid the dust
And wailed with waters' roar.

I called on all the holy names
Of every clime and creed.
"Show me the way, in mercy, ye
Great ones who have reached the goal."

Years then passed in bitter cry,
Each moment seemed an age,
Till one day midst my cries and groans
Some one seemed calling me.

A gentle soft and soothing voice
That said 'my son' 'my son',
That seemed to thrill in unison
With all the chords of my soul.

I stood on my feet and tried to find
The place the voice came from;
I searched and searched and turned to see
Round me, before, behind,
Again, again it seemed to speak
The voice divine to me.
In rapture all my soul was hushed,
Entranced, enthralled in bliss.

A flash illumined all my soul;
The heart of my heart opened wide.
O joy, O bliss, what do I find!
My love, my love you are here
And you are here, my love, my all!

And I was searching thee -
From all eternity you were there
Enthroned in majesty!
From that day forth, wherever I roam,
I feel Him standing by
O'ver hill and dale, high mount and vale,
Far far away and high.

The moon's soft light, the stars so bright,
The glorious orb of day,
He shines in them; His beauty - might -
Reflected lights are they.
The majestic morn, the melting eve,
The boundless billowing sea,
In nature's beauty, songs of birds,
I see through them - it is He.

When dire calamity seizes me,
The heart seems weak and faint,
All nature seems to crush me down,
With laws that never bend.
Meseems I hear Thee whispering sweet
My love, "I am near", "I am near".
My heart gets strong. With thee, my love,
A thousand deaths no fear.
Thou speakest in the mother's lay
Thou shuts the babies eye,
When innocent children laugh and play,
I see Thee standing by.

When holy friendship shakes the hand,
He stands between them too;
He pours the nectar in mother's kiss
And the baby's sweet "mama".
Thou wert my God with prophets old,
All creeds do come from Thee,
The Vedas, Bible, and Koran bold
Sing Thee in Harmony.

"Thou art," Thou art" the Soul of souls
In the rushing stream of life.
"Om tat sat om." Thou art my God,
My love, I am thine, I am thine.

- Swami Vivekananda

 

Hare Krishna!

Dear SGB,

All three pieces, The Blossom Never Knows(By Dadaji), The Chimney Sweeper(By William Blake) and The Quest For God (By Swami Vivekananda), are wonderful. I like them all but love the "The Blossom Never Knows" most.

Where were you for so long ? Absence of your gentle care and touch is always felt and becomes conspicuous.

Love,

Kumar.