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Monday, August 20, 2007

My India - by Paramahamsa Yogananda

Below please find the poem which is written by Paramahamsa yogananda, in 1957 three days before he died. This poem two of our YIC students Mr. Henry and his dear wife gave me to read on the independence day celebrations in Prashanti. I acknowledge my thanks to them through this newsletter.
With love,
Raghuram.

My India

Not where the musk of happiness blows, Not where darkness and fears never tread;
Not in the homes of perpetual smiles, Nor in the heaven of a land of prosperity
Would I be born If I must put on mortal garb once more.
Dread famine may prowl and tear my flesh, Yet would I love to be again
In my Hindustan.
A million thieves of disease
May try to steal the body's fleeting health;
And clouds of fate
May shower scalding drops of searing sorrow -
Yet would I there, in India,
Love to reappear!
Is this love of mine blind sentiment That sees not the pathways of reason?
Ah, no! I love India, For there I learned first to love God
and all things beautiful.
Some teach to seize the fickle dewdrop, life, Sliding down the lotus leaf of time;
Stubborn hopes are built
Around the gilded, brittle body-bubble.
But India taught me to love
The soul of deathless beauty in the dewdrop
and the bubble -
Not their fragile frames.
Her sages taught me to find my Self,
Buried beneath the ash heaps
Of incarnations of ignorance.
Though many a land of power, plenty, and science
My soul, garbed sometimes as an Oriental,
Sometimes as an Occidental,

Travelled far and wide,
Seeking Itself; At last, in India, to find Itself.
Though mortal fires raze all her homes
and golden paddy fields, Yet to sleep on her ashes and dream immortality,
O India, I will be there!
The guns of science and matter
Have boomed on her shores
Yet she is unconquered.
Her soul is free evermore!
Her soldier saints are away,
To rout with realization's ray
The bandits of hate, prejudice, and patriotic
selfishness;
And to burn the walls of separation dark Between children of the One, One Father. The Western brothers by matter's might have conquered my land;
Blow, blow aloud, her conch shells all!
India now invades with love,
To conquer their souls.
Better than Heaven or Arcadia
I love Thee, O my India!
And thy love I shall give
To every brother nation that lives.
God made the earth;
Man made confining countries
And their fancy-frozen boundaries.
But with newfound boundless love
I behold the borderland of my India
Expanding into the world.
Hail, mother of religions, lotus, scenic beauty,
And sages!

Thy wide doors are open,
Welcoming God's true sons through all ages.
Where Ganges, woods, Himalayan caves, and men
dream God -I am hallowed; my body touched that sod.

- P.Yogananda - From Songs of The Soul

1 comment:

Suchitra said...

Sir it is an excellent poem. Thank you so...much Sir...