6.30.2010

Terracotta, Indian Museum, Kolkata (India)










THE KASÎDAH IV, 33, 48

“How may the passing Now contain
 the standing Now—Eternity?—
“An endless is without a was,
 the be and never the to-be?

“Who made your Maker? If Self-made,
 why fare so far to fare the worse
“Sufficeth not a world of worlds,
 a self-made chain of universe?

“Grant an Idea, Primal Cause,
 the Causing Cause, why crave for more?
“Why strive its depth and breadth to mete,
 to trace its work, its aid to ’implore?

“Unknown, Incomprehensible,
 whate’er you choose to call it, call;
“But leave it vague as airy space,
 dark in its darkness mystical.

6.28.2010

Fossils and Jewels, Indian Museum, Kolkata (India)










THE KASÎDAH IV, 17, 32

“All matter hath a birth and death;
 ’tis made, unmade and made anew;
“We choose to call the Maker ‘God’:—
 such is the Zâhid’s owly view.

“You changeful finite Creatures strain”
 (rejoins the Drawer of the Wine)
“The dizzy depths of Inf’inite Power
 to fathom with your foot of twine”;

“Poor idols of man’s heart and head
 with the Divine Idea to blend;
“To preach as ‘Nature’s Common Course’
 what any hour may shift or end.”

“How shall the Shown pretend to ken
 aught of the Showman or the Show?
“Why meanly bargain to believe,
 which only means thou ne’er canst know?

6.26.2010

Painting Gallery, Indian Museum, Kolkata (India)










THE KASÎDAH IV, 1, 16

What Truths hath gleaned that Sage consumed
 by many a moon that waxt and waned?
What Prophet-strain be his to sing?
 What hath his old Experience gained?

There is no God, no man-made God;
 a bigger, stronger, crueller man;
Black phantom of our baby-fears,
 ere Thought, the life of Life, began.

Right quoth the Hindu Prince of old,
 “An Ishwara for one I nill,
Th’ almighty everlasting Good
 who cannot ’bate th’ Eternal Ill:”

“Your gods may be, what shows they are?”
 hear China’s Perfect Sage declare;
“And being, what to us be they
 who dwell so darkly and so far?”

6.24.2010

THE KASÎDAH III, 169, 176

Silence thine immemorial quest,
 contain thy nature’s vain complaint
None heeds, none cares for thee or thine;—
 like thee how many came and went?

Cease, Man, to mourn, to weep, to wail;
 enjoy thy shining hour of sun;
We dance along Death’s icy brink,
 but is the dance less full of fun?