At the age of eighteen I traveled from my home in Italy to India on
a personal spiritual search…
My journey ended in an ashram in Vrindavana, or Vraja.
The early
nights in the ashram were long, hot and humid. But they became tolerable by the
mesmerizing sound of Veena singing. I loved sitting in her room listening to
her poetic songs.
Once, Veena taught me how to write a poem: She asked me to visualize
an emotion and consider how to express it in words. So I started writing. From
then on whenever I felt impelled to write my realizations, or feelings, or
emotions, it was natural for me to express it through poetry.
To me, poetry is the language of the soul on this long path to surrender
and to love. As a practitioner of bhakti yoga, I need to cultivate a soft
heart. Poetry helps me greatly in this sense. I was taught that in bhakti
yoga the ultimate goal is "never to forget Krsna", so my poetry
is mostly about Krishna.
The book Gopala Champu by Jiva Goswami inspired this poem. My poem
is called Murali Vadana, which is a name for Krishna when he holds the flute
to His lips, stealing the minds and hearts of his devotees with his enchanting
melodies. My poem is about God’s longing for souls. Especially his beloved
Radha, the Queen of Vraja: that wonderful place where every breeze, every
season, every horizon and every landscape become fuel for Krishna’s amorous
heart. In Krishna’s lonesome reminiscing of Radha’s love for him, he plays his
flute, calling her, and all of us, back to his divine sweetness.
Murali Vadana
In the taste of water
is Krishna,
His blue skin
mirrors
His infinity
in the oceans
and in the enveloping skies
for all rests in Him,
while in His mind
dwells beauty, pleasure and rasa,
but only in Vraja
His love thickens
and His blue hue deepens
as a swollen rainy cloud,
and only there
His flute, in an enchanting sound,
brings about the autumn
of playful breezes,
 |
| Painting by Harish Kumar |
and on an inviting note
agitating the minds
He calls to dance
under the moonlight
and a festival of scales,
tunes, tones, tinkling and trills
captures the hands, the bodies, and the feet.
But this eons-long night of rasa
 |
| Painting by Harish Kumar |
seems to vanish
in one note of His raga,
and when the horizon swallows
His nocturnal secrecy of mellows,
still inebriated of pleasure,
He gazes at the peeping light
and by the beauty
of His lotus petal-like eyes
 |
| Art by Rachana Saurahb |
blends of pink
the dawn of sleepless night.
And once alone, aloof,
Up there, on the devoted Hill
pensively, standing
shaded by the tree,
He remembers the White Lotus
whirling, adorned by a moonbeam,
oozing a fragrant dew
 |
| Art by Subharata Das |
Of shiny drops.
And when caressed softly,
by the cooling petal of His hand
slipped like pearls
between His fingers,
where now the notes of His flute linger
giving away His thoughts
in soulful melodic strains
of His longing
for meeting Radha once again.
~If you are interested in seeing your poetry appear in this blog, or submitting a poem by a woman that has inspired you, please click here for submission guidelines. I greatly look forward to hearing from you!~
Comments
Post a Comment