Meera

‘Come to my pavilion, O my King.
I have spread a bed made of
delicately selected buds and blossoms,
And have arrayed myself in bridal garb
From head to toe.
I have been Thy slave during many births,
Thou art the be-all of my existence’

Sang the princess sitting under a tree
As light of silvery moon upon her face
Made her pining all the more free,

She sang with all her heart and mind
The evening as made a descent close
Love for the Lord her soul doth bind
And waves there of oceans in her rose,

She looked at the sky still lit up
Moon as floated there with glee
She thought of him as her only love
Like a divine orb  she did him see,

The river that flew beside her
That too his face on her reflect
And she thought of her flute player
And out came songs that she kept,

The evening, the trees and river
All became part of her song
The moon shone on her from far
And she felt within his love so strong,

She sang of meeting him quite oft
She sang of getting merged with him
The moon blessings on her dropped
And she on the tree’s trunk leaned,

Her songs, they came out relentless
Her music, it gave her calm
Yet when sent to the breeze they traced
How Meera’s Love , love of soul becomes,

The tune, the cadence, the flow
They kept the woods enchanted
And the silvery moon did glow
On Meera’s face with light slanted,

When oft I think of you
Meera as if you come
And in you oft do I see
How Love for the Lord calms.

                                            ~Moinak Dutta

                                           Kolkata, India

 

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