O Govind – the Sustainer of Earth, O Gopal – the Cowherd, Enter at least now for this life is ebbing.

On the banks of the river Sindhu I sing for you, O Lord. Here I had allowed every current To set me adrift.

And in the middle of the current As my boat began to rapidly sink I called out to you, O Boatman And you, kindly, took me to the shore.

Surdas says this, “The only steady refuge In this world of whirlpools is the dark skinned god.”

Loosely re-worked from Bhraj Bhasa (a dialect of Hindi)

Water, falling water. Filling my eyes, emptying my slumbers. Water coming down Those waterfalls, skirting the mountains.

Neither do I remember anyone Nor does my blood weep.

He used to sit In my eyes after Waking up Which country Did he leave for?

Neither does anyone leave for countries afar Nor do I remember anyone.

The evening lamps Were yet to open their eyes And the night had already Left them behind, ravished & blinded.

A pile of perfumed firewood, My body was yet to be used. But the night had already torched it Leaving behind to a heap of coal.

Neither does anyone burns here. Nor do I remember anyone.

O Heart, Don’t complain of your loneliness Tonight, to anyone else For everyone else too is alone.

Second version. Translated from Hindi

A heap of gardenia petals on the table Passage of time into the billfold Of history, years creased with use. What survives is real. What is reality?

Dark clouds, juncos feeding, Hope for the years that are remaining,
Silvers of waves on a river swelling, And a man’s fingers dropping

One petal after another onto the floor.