From Another Shore
Krishna, my love, I am weary.
I am weary of battling with yelling crowds,
I am weary of those who vie for the secret I hold,
the knowledge of what happens to a soul--
when touched by your silence it loses tongue, loses word,
loses script, loses the knowledge of existence.
Krishna, my love I am weary of the hysteria circling around,
the cymbals clashing and drowning love,
I am weary of the walls I need to build
to hide your treasure and the ancient lore.
Krishna, my love, my silence incarnate,
Tell me how to keep them away,
tell me how to sing
when your enchanting music drifts in from another shore.
Krishna my love, I smell your sword as much as I feel
the gentle feel of your peacock-feather on my skin.
How can I build a temple real
on this shore away, where you cannot reach?
Krishna, the alluring infinity, the tantalizing solitary dweller,
You never gave me enough of the strength
to fight battles of ambitions to claim the crown.
Lend me a voice that will ask
the right question that will open the way to the end of this weary pilgrimage.
When the evening falls will you stand by me and watch
the torches being lit across the shore, the lamps sparkle in the distant shrines?
They, I know, will be lighting a thousand lamps for you
and I will be watching from this shore, isolate, alone,
away from you lodged in those remote shrines?
In that hour of desolate night, will you hold my hand and watch
your own shrine from another shore, alone with the flickering lamp and me?
Krishna, my love, I am weary.
I am weary of battling with yelling crowds,
I am weary of those who vie for the secret I hold,
the knowledge of what happens to a soul--
when touched by your silence it loses tongue, loses word,
loses script, loses the knowledge of existence.
Krishna, my love I am weary of the hysteria circling around,
the cymbals clashing and drowning love,
I am weary of the walls I need to build
to hide your treasure and the ancient lore.
Krishna, my love, my silence incarnate,
Tell me how to keep them away,
tell me how to sing
when your enchanting music drifts in from another shore.
Krishna my love, I smell your sword as much as I feel
the gentle feel of your peacock-feather on my skin.
How can I build a temple real
on this shore away, where you cannot reach?
Krishna, the alluring infinity, the tantalizing solitary dweller,
You never gave me enough of the strength
to fight battles of ambitions to claim the crown.
Lend me a voice that will ask
the right question that will open the way to the end of this weary pilgrimage.
When the evening falls will you stand by me and watch
the torches being lit across the shore, the lamps sparkle in the distant shrines?
They, I know, will be lighting a thousand lamps for you
and I will be watching from this shore, isolate, alone,
away from you lodged in those remote shrines?
In that hour of desolate night, will you hold my hand and watch
your own shrine from another shore, alone with the flickering lamp and me?
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