Though
thou shouldst not spare me the anguish of the world,
yet I have no refuge but thy feet, O Lord of the City
of the wise begirt by gardens full of sweet flowers,
if in a keen edged wreath, the Mother cast off the babe,
what can it do but cry for the mother’s love? I am like
that babe. (1)
If
the man whom she loves subject h to contumely, the high-born
wife still clings to him; for he is her chosen lord.
And I, too, O Lord of the City of the wise whose walls
reach up to Heaven, I will ever praise thy victorious
feet, even if thou shouldst leave me unprotected. (2)
Reject
me, O Lord, and I will yet hold on to the, not knowing
another prop. O Lord of the City of the wise encircled
by green fields with their glancing fish, the right-ful
king may cause much pain to his country’s heart, not
looking at things with his own eyes; by still the country
trusts in him. I am like that country. (3)
The
sufferer loves the wise physician even when his flesh
is cut and burnt. O Lord of the City of the wise, let
thy illusion inflict on me an endless pain, I will yet
remain thy servant, I will yet look up to thy feet.
(4)
O
Lord of the City of the wise, who didst slay the strong
and cruel Beast, ah, where shall I fly for refuge, if
I leave thy feet? On the tossing sea the bird leaves
the mast of the ship, he flies to all sides but no shore
is visible, and he again returns to the mast. I am like
that bird. (5)
Let
Fire himself assail with its heat the lotus-flower;
it will blossom to none but the sun. Even if thou shouldst
refrain from healing its pain, my heart can be melted
by nothing else as by thy unlimited beauty. (6)
The
Rain may forget the fields, but the fields will ever
be thirsting for its coming. O Lord of the City of the
wise, what care I whether thou heal my wound or no,
my heart shall ever be thine. (7)
The
rivers course down through many lands but must yield
themselves to the Sea, they cannot flow back, O sea-hued
Lord of the City of the wise, even so must I ever be
drawn to thy resplendent glory. (8)
Illusory
Power ever seeks him who seeketh thee not, not seeking
thy lasting Might. O Lord of the City of the wise whose
discus flashes like the lightning, I must ever seek
thee, who am thy servant. (9)
----
Arya
15.11.1915
