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All activities are carried out by the three modes of material nature. But in ignorance, the soul, deluded by false identification with the body, thinks of itself as the doer.
What is this ache that afflicts me so আমার কী বেদনা সে কি জানো aamaar ki bedona shey ki jaano What is this ache that afflicts me so Do you know, can you sense it my beloved? Can you sense it from afar? A rain drenched darkness A night streaked with lightning The breeze throbbing to the tremors in my heart Do you know, can you sense it my beloved? This woeful wakefulness of mine I wonder if it will be in vain Do you know my beloved? The Malati you planted at my doorstep She has blossomed today Do you know my beloved? The Veena that you had tuned She cries out in my lap today The ache of being forgotten
Translation BG 3.16: O Parth, those who do not accept their responsibility in the cycle of sacrifice established by the Vedas are sinful. They live only for the delight of their senses; indeed their lives are in vain.
It is joy enough to gaze at the road আমার এই পথ-চাওয়াতেই আনন্দ amar ei poth chawatei anondo (audio) It is joy enough to gaze at the road To watch the play of sun and shade As rain and spring come and go They all rush in front of my eyes To and fro with day to day news I am at peace, lost in myself The breeze wafting gently by On the look out all day I sit alone at the door If arrives asudden That sacred moment It is then I will glimpse Till then in each and every hour I laugh and sing lost in myself Till then ever so often Floats forth His fragrance Translated by Rumela Sengupta Email This BlogThis! Share to Twitter Share to Facebook Share to Pinterest Category Devotion - Puja
Let me offer my emptiness at your feet আমার এই রিক্ত ডালি amar ei rikto daali Let me offer my emptiness at your feet Spreading my aridity Like an apparel on your path Fill me with the gift of blossoms, The same with which you adorn your armour, Forgiving me the shame Of my slender offerings at your altar Make me a soldier in your triumphant battles Marking me with the signs of victory Blessing me with resplendence And I will hail your name in praise Fulfil the message of spring Attiring me with physical charm Like the southern breeze Translated by Ananda Email This BlogThis! Share to Twitter Share to Facebook Share to Pinterest Category DD - Chitrangada, Love - Prem
My one secret the flute realizes আমার একটি কথা বাঁশি জানে Amar ekti kawtha baanshi jaane My one secret the flute realizes, It is only she who does. That which occupies my whole heart, Forever unspoken, I only whisper to the flute of mine. Sleepless I had remained in depth of night My eyes watching the gazing stars, And so the night passed by, In solitary wakefulness. These notes I did leave for my flute Only through music. Translated by Ananda
Who entreats my voice আমার কণ্ঠ হতে গান কে নিল ভুলায়ে Amar kontho hote gaan ke nilo bhulaye Who charms my voice into forgetfulness? My lost melodies flock into the nest of silence Within my soul... In somber days of Sraabon*, Hovering in the sighs of the jasmine, He waves sweet shadows, sprawling wings over my heart. When autumn shivers with an exuberant Shiuli** My eyes well up with a streak of a song. In the depth of night, what melody does he make, Spinning music between slumber and wakefulness, With what beat does he softly rock my dreams?
Robert Louis Stevenson "I Have Trod the Upward And..." From Songs of Travel I have trod the upward and the downward slope; I have endured and done in days before; I have longed for all, and bid farewell to hope; And I have lived and loved, and closed the door.
Translation BG 7.16: O best amongst the Bharatas, four kinds of pious people engage in My devotion—the distressed, the seekers of knowledge, the seekers of worldly possessions, and those who are situated in knowledge.
Robert Louis Stevenson Winter From Songs of Travel In rigorous hours, when down the iron lane The redbreast looks in vain For hips and haws, Lo, shining flowers upon my window-pane The silver pencil of the winter draws. When all the snowy hill And the bare woods are still; When snipes are silent in the frozen bogs, And all the garden garth is whelmed in mire, Lo, by the hearth, the laughter of the logs -- More fair than roses, lo, the flowers of fire!
Robert Louis Stevenson Robert Louis Stevenson "The Stormy Evening Closes Now in..." From Songs of Travel The stormy evening closes now in vain, Loud wails the wind and beats the driving rain, While here in sheltered house With fire-ypainted walls, I hear the wind abroad, I hark the calling squalls - 'Blow, blow,' I cry, 'you burst your cheeks in vain! Blow, blow,' I cry, 'my love is home again!' Yon ship you chase perchance but yesternight Bore still the precious freight of my delight, That here in sheltered house With fire-ypainted walls, Now hears the wind abroad, Now harks the calling squalls. 'Blow, blow,' I cry, 'in vain you rouse the sea, My rescued sailor shares the fire with me!'
Robert Louis Stevenson Robert Louis Stevenson To Dr. Hake From Songs of Travel (On Receiving a Copy of Verses) In the beloved hour that ushers day, In the pure dew, under the breaking grey, One bird, ere yet the woodland quires awake, With brief reveille summons all the brake: Chirp, chirp, it goes; nor waits an answer long; And that small signal fills the grove with song. Thus on my pipe I breathed a strain or two; It scarce was music, but 'twas all I knew. It was not music, for I lacked the art, Yet what but frozen music filled my heart? Chirp, chirp, I went, nor hoped a nobler strain; But Heaven decreed I should not pipe in vain, For, lo! not far from there, in secret dale, All silent, sat an ancient nightingale. My sparrow notes he heard; thereat awoke; And with a tide of song his silence broke.
To... From Songs of Travel I knew thee strong and quiet like the hills; I knew thee apt to pity, brave to endure, In peace or war a Roman full equipt; And just I knew thee, like the fabled kings Who by the loud sea-shore gave judgment forth, From dawn to eve, bearded and few of words. What, what, was I to honour thee? A child; A youth in ardour but a child in strength, Who after virtue's golden chariot-wheels Runs ever panting, nor attains the goal. So thought I, and was sorrowful at heart. Since then my steps have visited that flood Along whose shore the numerous footfalls cease, The voices and the tears of life expire. Thither the prints go down, the hero's way Trod large upon the sand, the trembling maid's: Nimrod that wound his trumpet in the wood, And the poor, dreaming child, hunter of flowers, That here his hunting closes with the great: So one and all go down, nor aught returns. For thee, for us, the sacred river waits, For me, the unworthy, thee, the perfect friend; There Blame desists, there his unfaltering dogs He from the chase recalls, and homeward rides; Yet Praise and Love pass over and go in. So when, beside that margin, I discard My more than mortal weakness, and with thee Through that still land unfearing I advance: If then at all we keep the touch of joy Thou shalt rejoice to find me altered - I, O Felix, to behold thee still unchanged.
Robert Louis Stevenson "The Morning Drum-Call on My Eager..." From Songs of Travel The morning drum-call on my eager ear Thrills unforgotten yet; the morning dew Lies yet undried along my field of noon. But now I pause at whiles in what I do, And count the bell, and tremble lest I hear (My work untrimmed) the sunset gun too soon
Robert Louis Stevenson "Lo! In Thine Honest Eyes I Read" Lo! in thine honest eyes I read The auspicious beacon that shall lead, After long sailing in deep seas, To quiet havens in June ease. Thy voice sings like an inland bird First by the seaworn sailor heard; And like road sheltered from life's sea Thine honest heart is unto me.
Translation BG 6.7: The yogis who have conquered the mind rise above the dualities of cold and heat, joy and sorrow, and honor and dishonor. Such yogis remain peaceful and steadfast in their devotion to God.
Robert Louis Stevenson Dedication My first gift and my last, to you I dedicate this fascicle of songs - The only wealth I have: Just as they are, to you. I speak the truth in soberness, and say I had rather bring a light to your clear eyes, Had rather hear you praise This bosomful of songs Than that the whole, hard world with one consent, In one continuous chorus of applause Poured forth for me and mine The homage of ripe praise. I write the finis here against my love, This is my love's last epitaph and tomb. Here the road forks, and I Go my way, far from yours.
Robert Louis Stevenson St. Martin's Summer As swallows turning backward When half-way o'er the sea, At one word's trumpet summons They came again to me - The hopes I had forgotten Came back again to me. I know not which to credit, O lady of my heart! Your eyes that bade me linger, Your words that bade us part - I know not which to credit, My reason or my heart. But be my hopes rewarded, Or be they but in vain, I have dreamed a golden vision, I have gathered in the grain - I have dreamed a golden vision, I have not lived in vain.
Robert Louis Stevenson "I Dreamed of Forest Alleys Fair" I. I dreamed of forest alleys fair And fields of gray-flowered grass, Where by the yellow summer moon My Jenny seemed to pass. I dreamed the yellow summer moon, Behind a cedar wood, Lay white on fields of rippling grass Where I and Jenny stood. I dreamed - but fallen through my dream, In a rainy land I lie Where wan wet morning crowns the hills Of grim reality. II. I am as one that keeps awake All night in the month of June, That lies awake in bed to watch The trees and great white moon. For memories of love are more Than the white moon there above, And dearer than quiet moonshine Are the thoughts of her I love. III. Last night I lingered long without My last of loves to see. Alas! the moon-white window-panes Stared blindly back on me. To-day I hold her very hand, Her very waist embrace - Like clouds across a pool, I read Her thoughts upon her face. And yet, as now, through her clear eyes I seek the inner shrine - I stoop to read her virgin heart In doubt if it be mine - O looking long and fondly thus, What vision should I see? No vision, but my own white face That grins and mimics me. IV. Once more upon the same old seat In the same sunshiny weather, The elm-trees' shadows at their feet And foliage move together. The shadows shift upon the grass, The dial point creeps on; The clear sun shines, the loiterers pass, As then they passed and shone. But now deep sleep is on my heart, Deep sleep and perfect rest. Hope's flutterings now disturb no more The quiet of my breast.
obert Louis Stevenson "Though Deep Indifference Should Drowse" Though deep indifference should drowse The sluggish life beneath my brows, And all the external things I see Grow snow-showers in the street to me, Yet inmost in my stormy sense Thy looks shall be an influence. Though other loves may come and go And long years sever us below, Shall the thin ice that grows above Freeze the deep centre-well of love? No, still below light amours, thou Shalt rule me as thou rul'st me now. Year following year shall only set Fresh gems upon thy coronet; And Time, grown lover, shall delight To beautify thee in my sight; And thou shalt ever rule in me Crowned with the light of memory.
Robert Louis Stevenson "My Heart, When First the Blackbird Sings" My heart, when first the blackbird sings, My heart drinks in the song: Cool pleasure fills my bosom through And spreads each nerve along. My bosom eddies quietly, My heart is stirred and cool As when a wind-moved briar sweeps A stone into a pool But unto thee, when thee I meet, My pulses thicken fast, As when the maddened lake grows black And ruffles in the blast.

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7th HEAVEN ILLUSTRATED Arunoday Kar

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