The Mystic Dance
When I look at the dark night, I wonder.
Myriads of stars hiding the sleeping God inside,
Waiting to blossom one day as the dry countryside after a rain.
God sleeps in the stone, in bricks, wood and metals,
He rises from the grassy lands with his assuring hands,
He lies under our feet, undisturbed, lives in all the bodies as a Guest.
The inter-galactic space is filled with his life-giving breath.
The sun, moon and the stars and the void,
The million varieties of living forms, invisible beings,
Incalculable forces and movements, broken glasses veil God,
The only indivisible Reality,
In whom there is no past, success, failure or future, timeless,
Filling all time yet not occupying any space, not even a point,
Overflowing the infinite boundless expanses,
In whom there is nothing far, in time or space,
No life or death, none other than himself, companionless,
Ever fulfilled, a bodiless marvel, an inexhaustible opulent existence,
An ocean in movement, a stillness unimaginable.
Myriads of candles twinkling on water, drifting, swirling in circles,
Each one a mighty mystery, an undiminished absolute monarch.
An ever-pure, immaculate splendour holding all in a strong embrace.
Unending dramas on an inscrutable, immobile, constantly shifting,
Rotating, floating deck, sweeping gales, uncontrolled outbursts,
Felicitous eruptions, geysers of perennial light and sweetness,
The mystic dance of the Mother
On the heaving bosom of the Lord in trance.
Niranjan Guha Roy