Some Beautiful Young Women (Kalidasa)

Some beautiful young
women fully fulfilled after
making love, still feel the

rushes rising in their thighs
and reaching up their groins.
These women dip

themselves in oils
and massage themselves,
sitting in the morning sun.

They let off the surges
still persisting after having
made love.

Note: Original is in Sanskrit. This translation
is based on a prose translation of Coming of Winter,
Verse 17 in The Ritusamhara of Kalidasa.

Be Gentle and Slow (Kabir)

Be gentle and slow, O my mind
Everything happens slowly

A gardener might squander
A hundred buckets of water


But the plants will bear
Fruit, only in the season.

Note: The original is in Hindi

(via sulekha)

Krishna Appears Darker (Mirabai)

I hear a note from a
flute coming down the
river. O my enchanted
heart! what doubts the flute
player has not yet
calmed in your mind?


In dark trousers near the
dark Jamuna waters,
Krishna appears darker
than ever before.
A single note from his
flute makes me lose my
mind. I stumble and ask
to be free of these
torments of mine.

Note: The original song is in Hindi.

(via sulekha)

To Be A Woman (Blaga Dimitrova)

It hurts to be a woman.
It pains when she becomes
A girl, a beloved, a mother.

But the most unbearable
suffering on the earth is
of a woman who does not
know these sufferings.

Note: This is based on another English translation
of a Bulgarian Poem by Blaga Dimitrova here

~Ravi
(via sulekha)

Nostalgia (Fernando Pessoa)

Life, an experiential journey taken involuntarily
the spirit travels feeling the world
sitting in my chair, contemplating
I see the world vicariously

I’ve lived without ever having lived
I’ve thought without ever having thought
I’ve danced without ever having danced
taking stillborn adventures calmly

I am sick of what I never had
or likely will ever have
I am sick of gods
always just about to appear

My body bears the wounds
of battles never fought
my muscles are weary
of efforts never wrought

Great unknown lassitude
engulfs me today
I suppress my helpless tears
born of my sick soul

I look at the sky
dull, dumb and empty
as it never ever existed
or will never be there

I sleep when I think
I lie down when I walk
I suffer feeling nothing
my suffering is for nothing

My nostalgia is for nothing
like the sky above
that I do not see
but gaze at impersonally.
***

Note: This is based on Fernando Pessoa’s prose in ‘Livro do Desassossego’
translated from Portuguese into English by Margaret Jull Costa,
p 74-75, Serpent's Tail, London, 1991.

~Ravi
(via sulekha)

Watching the Beautiful Moon He Mused

Near the mountains
far off the city, the Zen
master lived a
humble life in a
plain hut.

A thief sneaked in
when he was away one day.
He searched and searched
but found nothing of value.

Seeing the master returning,
in panic he was fleeing.
"Wait," he heard
"A long way you came,
you will not go empty
handed."

Undressing himself he
gave the thief his clothes
and sat on the floor naked.
Watching the beautiful
moon he mused:
'Poor fella, I wish
I could give him the moon.'

Note: This is a rendering of a story
in Zen Flesh, Zen Bones, p 27, Tuttle
Publishing, Boston, 1998.

~Ravi
(via sulekha)