You are an undying distant promise,
A slow traveller I’m on foot,
Suffering separation for long,
Dissipating, to die on the way,
Seeing no end of the endless path;
In getting I lose thee,
In losing I deem my gain;
An endless quench and death of death,
Let this long discontent be life.
In darkling clouds His radiant outline
Comes to be and goes off the sight,
Which, I can’t in my eyes capture;
And that faint Him oft shows and goes off,
Which, in the illusion of moon’s magic beam
I search in every grain of creation,
And scarce can recognise still.
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From mahagita by Osho, in Hindi
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- Translations | 20.08.14 |
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem