Stream of Life

The same stream of life that runs through my veins night and day

runs through the world and dances in rhythmic measures.

It is the same life that shoots in joy through the dust of the earth
in numberless blades of grass
and breaks into tumultuous waves of leaves and flowers.

It is the same life that is rocked in the ocean-cradle of birth
and of death, in ebb and in flow.

I feel my limbs are made glorious by the touch of this world of life.
And my pride is from the life-throb of ages dancing in my blood this moment.

- Rabindranath Tagore

65

If sparks fly

I shall think my thirst and hunger quelled.

If the skies tear down

I shall think them pouring for my bath.

If a hillside slide on me

I shall think it a flower for my hair.

O lord white as jasmine, if my head falls from my shoulders

I shall think it your offering. 

Vacana 65, Mahadeviyakka

(c.1130)

trans. A.K. Ramanujan (1973)

When It Rains

When it rains it seems the room itself turns blue, trembles
and falls like rain, as if endless time coming from nowhere
fills the room, as if endless wind blowing in
carries the room to the riverbank;
turning into a boat, I float
I get soaked; swaying, shivering, I keep
moving; in the distance one can see the line where
the river meets the sea, as if
all around waves hiss, as if there’s nobody around
anywhere as if a profound sobbing chokes the throat
as if terrifying harsh sobs strangle
the room – By what strange magic
the ten directions sparkle in a moment,
as if everything will revert
to its real shape, as if all is a dance,
all is rhythm, all is tinted light –
Awakening and seeing the rain, sometimes it’s
like this, then I pray Oh sky
break up the room and give me more rain!

- Nabaneeta Dev Sen, translated by Sunil B. Ray, Nandana Dev Sen, and Carolyne Wright with the poet.

Which other woman of my kind has felicitated scholars with such gifts and money?
To which other women of my kind have epics been dedicated?
Which other woman of my kind has won such acclaim in each of the arts?
You are incomparable, Muddupalani, among your kind.

[…]

A face that glows like the full moon, 
skills of conversation, matching the countenance. 
Eyes filled with compassion, 
matching the speech.
A great spirit of generosity,
matching the glance.
These are the ornaments that adorn Palani, when she is praised by kings.

- Translated from Telugu by B.V.L. Narayana Rao

My voice is a crime,
my thoughts anarchy,
because
I do not sing to their tunes,
I do not carry them on my shoulders.

-Cherabanda Raju(1944-1982)

I will meet you yet again
How and where
I know not
Perhaps I will become a
figment of your imagination
and maybe spreading myself
in a mysterious line
on your canvas
I will keep gazing at you.

Perhaps I will become a ray
of sunshine to be
embraced by your colours
I will paint myself on your canvas
I know not how and where —
but I will meet you for sure.

Maybe I will turn into a spring
and rub foaming
drops of water on your body
and rest my coolness on
your burning chest
I know nothing
but that this life
will walk along with me.

When the body perishes
all perishes
but the threads of memory
are woven of enduring atoms
I will pick these particles
weave the threads
and I will meet you yet again

- A poem by Amrita Pritam (1919-2005), written in her sickbed for her partner, the artist Imroz