MAHARAAJ

 

I touch God in my song    as the hill touches the far-away sea      with its waterfall.The butterfly counts not months but moments,    and has time enough.

When the voice of the Silent touches my words

I know him and therefore know myself.

If you would have it so,

I will end my singing.If it sets your heart aflutter,I will take away my eyes from your face.

If it suddenly startles you in your walk,I will step aside and take another path.

If it confuses you in your flower-weaving,

I will shun your lonely garden.

If it makes the water wanton and wild, I will not row my boat by your bank.

The song of mine will touch your foreheadlike a kiss of blessing.

When you are alone it will sit by your side andwhisper in your ear, when you are in the crowdit will fence you about with aloofness.

My song will be like a pair of wings to your dreams,it will transport your heart to the verge of the unknown.

It will be like the faithful star overheadwhen dark night is over your road.

I have loved the sunlight, the sky and the green earth;I have heard the liquid murmur of the riverthrough the darkness of midnight;Autumn sunsets have come to me at the bend of the roadin the lonely waste, like a bride raising her veilto accept her lover.Yet my memory is still sweet with the first white jasminesthat I held in my hands when I was a child.

Many a glad day has come in my life,and I have laughed with merrymakers on festival nights....

Yet my heart is sweet with the memory of the first fresh jasmines

By all means they try to hold me secure who love me in this world. But it is otherwise with thy love which is greater than theirs, and thou keepest me free.

Lest I forget them they never venture to leave me alone. But day passes by after day and thou art not seen.

If I call not thee in my prayers, if I keep not thee in my heart, thy love for me still waits for my love.

Art thou abroad on this stormy night on thy journey of love, my friend? The sky groans like one in despair.

I have no sleep tonight. Ever and again I open my door and look out on the darkness, my friend!

I can see nothing before me. I wonder where lies thy path!

By what dim shore of the ink-black river, by what far edge of the frowning forest, through what mazy depth of gloom art thou threading thy course to come to me, my friend?

EINSTEIN