UNTOLD LOVE

"The Lord's charming looks overshadowed the attractiveness of millions of cupids put together.

 I am at a loss to find the appropriate similes to describe the Lord's beauty yet I venture to do so only by His mercy alone otherwise who can dare to attempt such an impossible task. He glowed like a mountain of gold, His body being smeared with sandal paste sometimes looked like the rising full moon. His curly dark tresses were decorated with the fragrant Malati garlands; a sweet smile clung intimately to His lips that can win the heart of all the muses.  The clear markings of sandalwood tilak with a red dot of Vermilion adorned His beautiful broad forehead. He raised His arms up in the sky chanting the name of Hari and danced; the knee long flower garland around His neck swayed with each movement. His upraised arms glistened like fine tapering pillars of gold, His body became drenched with the incessant flow of ecstatic tears from His lotus petal eyes. As the ecstatic feelings increased the hairs of His body stood on end like the ever fresh Kadamba flower. Chaitanya Bhagavata MK 23 ch. 

                                  ~~~

How to find the ways to paint the rising astonishment about the immensity of the Golden Lord's love;  How to pour the sky of His unlimitedness into an instant, how to encompass the ocean of His personality in a drop, in meager words, but how to give up trying upon realizing the fortune to be in the moonlight of His love, when His embrace is there, available, tangible, reachable by everyone.  But I am  faced with my  own shortcomings and the lack of devotion for passing on  the beauty, the stupor, the attraction beyond materiality, the love and the prism of His mercy, I can only leave to the readers to take into the heart the goodness of this attempt.

 ~~~

I do not find words

and I need no ink

but tears of love,

to write about  Gouranga Avatari

adorned of these gems

belonging to Radha's eyes

and shining of her golden splendor.

I need no paper,

but many hearts

to write on

the love where these tears belong,

I need  an inkpot

filled of the sweetest mercy

to flavor  each word

telling of the Munificent Lord

seen on this Earth

not so long before,

I need the dancing and chanting

of millions of souls

to describe His pleasure, 

and the delight

of His Moon-like smile.

I need no letters,

but notes and tones

to intone the mood of Vraja

the faints, the shivers,

the ecstatic runs,

rhapsodies of Gourahari’s love,

overcome by the love

of His Beloved One; 

and I need the magnitude

of all the stars in the sky

to draw His marvelous form,

the effulgence of His limbs, 

the lotus of His face,

the petals of His eyes.

How many colors

would I need

to paint the infinite nuances

waves of  His prema,

the mellows inundating

from Navadvip to Sri Kshetra?

And, then, a mile-long desk

as the many streets,

Lord Gouranga  touched

with His feet,

so large to contain

all the steps of His dance,

the echoes of His chant.

But above all, I need Bhakti,

the independent Muse,

for the vision of the Lord

to appear on my tongue,

or this poet's song, 

remain the attempts

of a deaf-man to sing

out of his own silence.