Sandhya arrives tiptoeing softly,
as the sun sets behind distant mountains,
and the evensong begins,
with nesting birds calling sleep,
the drone of crickets sound
the riff of the night’s melodies,
and the queen of the night
sweet honeysuckles on the vine,
its white and yellow flowers,
woven on green tresses,
releases its fragrance,
that lingers in the poet’s mind,
then Sandhya comes softly,
the bells on her ankles ring,
like the melody of temple bells,
and the chants of votaries,
the amber light of oil lamps,
and the bright camphor lamps
offer the last anjali of the day,
offered to our creator,
praises of gratitude for the day,
and blessings for the night,
as the night will be long,
for the play is done,
and the games we played,
in temple courtyards,
picking and tossing tamarind seeds,is over,
how many we caught or dropped is pointless,
for they have called us home,
we must go, waiting is not a choice,
tomorrow, we will play again,
dressed in the different attires
of a different day and time.

The rudra veena is silent,
for in a fevered ecstatic play,
the strings snapped,
and the musician in darkness,
no longer sees, nor has spare strings,
so tonight he sings from his heart,
of the journey, this traveller,
sings of his samsara’s companion,
the one who delights him,
the one who with wisdom
lights the darkness,
who speaks to him in silence,
who illuminates from within,
and his heart beats to the rhythm
of rudra’s tandava, as blood courses,
warm within his veins,
each drop sings the flowing praise,
in gratitude for existence,
the evenings ragas are being sung,
listen, you will hear the tablas,
the veena, the flute and the harmonium,
and the chorus of praise,
soon all worship will cease,
as all retire to seek their rest,
but you and I will talk,
late into the night,
I will lie on my back and gaze,
at the starry night sky and listen,
while you speak wisdom,
of beginnings and endings,
and everything in between,
until sleep weighs my eyelids,
and they succumb to sleeps stupor.

My soul will awaken,
and meet you once more,
on that beautiful shore,
of your holiest river,
that bathes and refreshes the soul,
and we will continue talking,
until the morning,
and just before I awake,
you show me visions,
that on waking I remember,
forgetting all that is we spoke,
one day I will remember,
I will try not to see the visions,
so I remember the love
with which you spoke to my soul,
but for now your goodness suffices.
Om Tat Sat! Om Shanti! Shanti!

Poetry Contest: All Poetry contest on ‘’Later year poems of Rabindranath Tagore’’:A Sheaf of Songs.
Poetry Prompt:

With the light of mine eyes

I saw the outside,

Now when the light is gone, I see the self within.

In the playhouse of the world, had played with thee—

Let that play be over and the meeting of hearts begin

The string of the vina has snapped,

The vina of the heart now sings.

By Rabindranath Tagore ©Charles Coelho

© 2017, Charlie Bottle. All Rights Reserved © 2009 www. All Rights Reserved

Author: Charlie Bottle

Charlie Bottle's passion is poetry. He has lived on three continents, speaks five languages and loves different cultures, people, music and food. He believes that "Poetry uses the economy of words to express the essence of our humanity." It is this magical use of brevity to express the profound that drew him to poetry. While his professional and personal life has pulled him in different directions, He continues in his discipleship of the craft and writes whenever the muse moves him. While English is his second language it is the language in which he lives, breathes, thinks and writes poetry.