The Chanpa Flower
Supposing I became a chanpa flower, just for fun, and grew on a Branch high up that tree, and shook in the wind with laughter and Danced upon the newly budded leaves, would you
The Gardener XXI: Why Did He Choose
Why did he choose to come to my Door, the wandering youth, when the Day dawned? As I come in and out I pass by him Every time, and my eyes are caught by
The Gardener XLII: O Mad, Superbly Drunk
O mad, superbly drunk; If you kick open your doors and Play the fool in public; If you empty your bag in a night, And snap your fingers at prudence; If you walk in
Little Flute
Thou hast made me endless, such is thy pleasure. This frail Vessel thou emptiest again and again, and fillest it ever with fresh life. This little flute of a reed thou hast carried over
Leave This
Leave this chanting and singing and telling of beads! Whom dost thou worship in this lonely dark corner of a temple with doors all shut? Open thine eyes and see thy God is not
Old And New
Thou hast made me known to friends whom I knew not. Thou hast given me seats in homes not my own. Thou hast brought the distant near and made a brother of the stranger.
Maya
That I should make much of myself and turn it on all sides, Thus casting colored shadows on thy radiance – such is thy Maya. Thou settest a barrier in thine own being And
The Gardener LIX: O Woman
O woman, you are not merely the Handiwork of God, but also of men; These are ever endowing you with Beauty from their hearts. Poets are weaving for you a web With threads of
Lover's Gifts XLIV: Where Is Heaven
Where is heaven? you ask me, my child,-the sages tell us it is Beyond the limits of birth and death, unswayed by the rhythm of day And night; it is not of the earth.
Sail Away
Early in the day it was whispered that we should sail in a boat, Only thou and I, and never a soul in the world would know of this our Pilgrimage to no country
Lover's Gifts XIX: It Is Written in the Book
It is written in the book that Man, when fifty, must leave the Noisy world, to go to the forest seclusion. But the poet proclaims That the forest hermitage is only for the young.
The Gift
I want to give you something, my child, for we are drifting in the Stream of the world. Our lives will be carried apart, and our love forgotten. But I am not so foolish
The Gardener XIV: I Was Walking by the Road
I was walking by the road, I do not Know why, when the noonday was past And bamboo branches rustled in the Wind. The prone shadows with their out- Stretched arms clung to the
The Child-Angel
They clamour and fight, they doubt and despair, they know no end To their wrangling. Let your life come amongst them like a flame of light, my Child, unflickering and pure, and delight them
Playthings
Child, how happy you are sitting in the dust, playing with a broken twig all the morning. I smile at your play with that little bit of a broken twig. I am busy with