Wednesday, June 1, 2016


(515)  Tomar katha ogo prabhu

Lord, Your story,
As there's never a close,
Whenever I speak, thereon I see:
As much is spoke, that much is untold.

The nebulae of the distant sky,
In their every rift, there too You are writ.
As much as Your message celestial,
It does descend, still I don't comprehend.
With folded hands I stand gazing,
A stream of tears flowing quietly.

In the dungeons of hell
Mid honey-coated resin scents,
Or with harpstrings resounding
On moonlit nights intoxicating,
Even so, many tales and many pains,
For endless time, mute they remain.

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1 comment:

  1. Where opposites meet, He may be seen; but He cannot be grasped.