Your loving hands
mother the sick, the strangers,
the homeless and the orphans.
You walk through the streets
of Calcutta and Bombay to find
these unfortunates;
hug and embrace them as God's jewels,
give them food, roof
and bed for their head.
You are a servant
ascended to the heavens
to be counted among the real stars.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Your poem is full of simple eloquence, and it fittingly honors its subject in humble language. In response I would like to share a poem by my friend Yang Ke, written the day he read news of Mother Theresa's passing. (Yang Ke is Vice-Chairman of Guangdong Province Writers Association) . MOTHER THERESA This person who went among the crowd this doer of charitable works Begging bowl in hand in a blue-white cotton sari This spiritual seeker content with a lifetime of austerity On a morning in Calcutta stopped to rest her tired feet She felt the strength ebbing from her For whom do the bells toll? Strains of Diana's funeral choir Have died down, not reaching where Theresa sleeps in peace An eminent figure under a lonely halo set apart by holiness Not pretending to be more remarkable than the poor she served Fame was an unintended reward “I am not worthy” She saw herself as a pencil in God's hand Miracles were traces of her patient steady steps Attending to tasks for those who had nowhere to turn In an era of desire writ large, this was a kind of greatness She was the Way, the Spirit, and The truth A lavish state funeral would have been superfluous Her “life lived unto death” was already as plain as a shroud Her diminutive frame grew frail, sleeping on a straw mat She handed pills to lepers washed clothes their thick fingers could not hold A poor woman who loved the poor living in authenticity Her eyes turned to low places her soul ascended all the higher As the gate of heaven opened, she kept looking back Once again this maiden from Albania heeded A summons from her inner heart to leave her home “Go back to the earth, where there are no slums” Sept.9,1997 Translated by Denis Mair
Dear Denis, sorry, I have only read your comment now. Thanks so much for your appreciation of my simple poem. Thanks so much for sharing this poem of your friend, Yang Ke, which you have beautifully translated. How elated I am to read this. There is much life and much purpose and dignity in the life of Mother Theresa we all can learn from. Thanks for sharing. I hope you will put this poem in your profile.