(c) Sharad Chandra, 2001
1
What greater monument could we raise
For those
Who gave us a child’s paradise
Than perceiving wonders surrounding wonders
2
At last you, the heart of seasons !
The Season of seasons !
The Season of Life !
We wondered through labyrinths
Of cities, towns, deserts and woods
Our seasons were shadows of time
Bear this brief and fragile naming
Oh, long awaited one !
To make the abundance our own
For a while
Before it wholly claims us
Naming cannot hold you
Not even love unnamed
The late spring !
The second youth !
The Season of seasons !
The Season of Life !
3
In delicate fears of a child
The golden mystery unfolds
It retreats deeper
As footfall of the world draws near
Wholly withdraws
Or it goes forth like an arrow shot by a mighty arm
For whom do the children and seers build
A bridge with light of soul ?
4
Someone returns as a stranger
To the city of his birth
The world has found peace in his soul
But what good is he
To the unconsoled sorrows ?
To hungers, to unquenched thirsts ?
But what good a full moon ?
Or a spring breeze ?
What good a choir of birds ?
And the golden wine of twilight
Spilling among clumps of trees ?
And what good, alas, which is so much more ?
Little do they know, with their mature sorrows
That his eyes are the wonders they unknowingly sought
5
O city, I have seen your real face
You are not made of mortar and stone
But of consciousness and life
You were gleaming like a diamond in moonshine
And history and kings were like dried up leaves.
Of city, I have seen your birth in thought
I have seen your lakes burst their shores
Your palaces crumble in endless patterns
Your gardens filled with sands of the river
And even the last memory vanish
Where your name could be found
And you, veiled in dawn of a far off day !
6
Sometimes the world seem
Like a nightmare
Or a thought of a sluggish
And callous mind
No golden essence we detect in words of men
We cannot reply to their vulgar tongues
Dark streets become too dark
Narrow streets too narrow
The earth looks like a sorrowful brooding mother
But once again we gather sounds of fountains
Within arms of sleeping joy
Green fields are veiled
In a vast desert-silence
The advancing moon is joyous, bright and firm
The birds song sounds like a thousand tiny bells
In the recurrence of seasons is the rebirth of poets
Their path leads to all windows and doors
Their blessings and songs multiply
They give away mirrors of infinity
Serene and pure
Mirrors beyond price
They give away for nothing
To every heeding, unheeding passerby
7
Winds of forests
And flood of stars
Celebrate silence
There is a ceaseless song of rebirth
From twilight to dawn
In the choir of mountain pines
In the choir of breakers, sea winds
In firmness and patience
Of rugged and worn out shores
In hearts of awakened ones
Loving and awake
Beyond sleep of gratified lovers
Beyond sleeping fountains and sleeping blosoms
sharadchandra 