Magazine : Matrusri English
Language : English
Volume Number : 1
Month : December
Issue Number : 7
Year : 1966

That Thou has placed a cleansed mirror before me is true!

And that Thou art playing on Veen beautifully

 haunting melodies is also true!

But Mother,

my blindness and my deafness has not left me yet!

 Bless me with eyes that can see Thee and ears that can hear Thee Mother!!

As one afraid to swim in nectar one should be drowned,

 As one who is afraid of his gold,

As one who throws away the philosopher’s stone,

Feeling that it is too heavy to carry,

And as the mad – cap who may drive out the divine cow

 ‘Kamadhenu’ feeling it too burdensome to feed it:

I too am shunning whatever good that comes

my way and am hugging all vice – – 

How art Thou forgiving me still, Mother.

If Thou art compared to the sky

 the simile suits well Mother!

For, there won’t be anything that does not fall under your shade

as nothing can dwell outside Thee;

There won’t be a square inch where Thy Feet are not present

just as there can’t be any place without the sky;

And they fan residing in all will be enjoying all

 Yet, just as the sky is formless, Thou too can’t be seen

 nor held, Mother! Strange !!

Small clouds are not always small in their output;

 A short banana tree can give hundreds of sweet fruits;

The small jasmine can flood many a mile with its sweet scent;

We know all these Mother! and so don’t hope that we are going to leave Thee for

Thou appearest short!

 Our hopes are growing around Thee with evey minute Mother!!

Lest it should disturb the sky and wind around Thee

You won’t move even your little finger

 But to uplift the fallen, to soothe the wounded,

and to bless the innocent and the pure

 Thy unmoving hand always presents itself like a lightening!

Strange indeed!!

The great sea looks innocent though holding in her

 lap many rivers and rivulets!

 What if it is a river or a brook the sea hugs it with love.

Likewise, what if we may cause bliss or pain!

 To Thee we are all Thine.

 Thy heart is not a drop of pollen ending behind a hundred petals!

 It is a river of pure honey with no end nor beginning!

 What else can I say, Mother!!

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