You give me, my Anandamurti,
The statue of Radha and Krishna
Found from
The rubble,
The debris,
Mouldering heaps
Of earth,
The fallen pillars, walls
Of the broken
Terracotta temples
Old-old,
Small-small,
But designed well
And artistic.
My Anadamurti
Which the eyes
Do not believe,
Words take to not,
What am I seeing,
Seeing,
A golden statue,
A golden statue of
Radha and Krishna,
Cast in gold,
But blackly
Into the hands
Of mine
And I seeing,
Seeing in
Wonder and astonishment!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem