Poems originally written in Hindi by Mrs. Swaroop Kumari Bakshi were translated into English by her father late shri B.P. Shinglu Ji.
The Inward Light
Frail like a crystal wine -cup,
Is the beauty of your face,
Soon to perish and crumble
With all its heavenly grace.
A stone came from nowhere
And broke the cup of delight,
Turning each fragment of it
Into a focus of inward light.
From the tresses disheveled in grief
And tears dripping from sad eyes,
Was born on a monsoon night
A joy that never dies.
There's a lamp that illumines
The innermost recesses of the mind
There's a priceless pearl that lies
In the shell of the soul enshrined.
There's story that remains untold,
To the men of the world unknown,
One who sacrifices his all,
It's truth is revealed to him alone
Darkness and Silence
Let the moon be extinguished,
The glimmering archipelago of stars
And the fire-places cease to burn,
The scholar's lamp be quenched
And homes and hearths swallowed up
In the all-devouring darkness.
Let the light of the fear-stricken world
A vast army encampment,
Be put out.
Let the conflict between mine and thine,
Differences and discriminations
Be dissolved in the ever-deepening dark
And from the black abyss of night
Be born a ray of light.
Let the agitated world pulse subside
And life retire to amore tranquil mood,
Be silenced the mad noise of the whirling wheels
And the blind flames dashing together
Learn to be quiet, thou man of iron,
Thou soul-less tool of electric power.
Let silence prevail.
And for once be released
The incarcerated voice of thy soul.
O life's traveller,
Consider Time a parent bird
Hatching its brood of years
On the bough of eternity.
They come flying and pour out their songs,
Sad or joyful,
And vanish into silence.
Every glad evening hold in its lap
A new- born darkness of sorrow.
What they call heart
Is an old mirror blurred with grief,
And eyes, a lachrymose story
Of the pain and suffering of life.
But the sorrow of man
Is, in essence, deception.
He seeks to slake his thirst
From a patch of sand
Knowing not that in the depths of his soul
Flows a river of purest water.
The Homeless Wayfarer
I am the living pathway
Perpetually moving on
In quest of a homeless wayfarer.
In my bosom are treasured,
Every particle of my dust
Throbs with the spirit of endlessness.
From moment to moment comes
A new traveler, who treads on me,
Goes his way and never returns.
But there was one,
Him alone I seek.
Cities crumbled, struck
By time's mighty storm.
Ages passed, leaving behind
A tale of tears.
At every doorstep waits
The palanquin of death
To carry life to its ancient home.
They all go there.
I too go on from age to age,
A lonely homeless wayfarer.
The City of the Stars
A dark, fearful storm
Rages within me,
The frail boat of my life.
From a far comes a voice,
Arise and face the tempestuous gloom,
Make your way
Through the surging, billowing darkness,
Your destination is
The city of the stars,
Embosomed in the infinite.
An old memory
Whispers at the inner door,
You are free,
Yours is the earth and yours the sky,
You are the imperishable Truth,
Ordained to outstep
Existence and non-existence.
Of the region of timeless-ness.
The Strings of Fate
A beautiful bird, I had
my nest in the sky,
my silver wings laced in the night,
my song blossomed into morning.
Then came the great bird-snarer
With the elemental cage,
He cast his net of birth and death
Amid the forest of stars.
He captures me.
Tied in the strings of fate,
I am a prisoner now in the world,
Pining for freedom.
O heavenly Powers
Release me and restore to me,
The strength, once more to fly
Among the realms of light,
Flooding the limitless spaces
With my song.
Weep not, O cosmic bride,
Adorn thy face
Before the mirror of the moon,
I am coming, coming
With the dawn in my eyes