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Sad, Dhan Gopal Mukerji, in English Clear filters

SadDhan Gopal Mukerji

Lassitude

Ah! to be able to sing, To sorrow in melody; To string with silver Sorrow's dark harp! Or, mount every thorn Crowning life's brow With lustrous stars-- Those tears of the sky. Rolling down its face When night's hand puts Darkness's crown on its head As twilight dies. None of these, for my soul; Only to weep is given to me, To nourish my heart's crop For the scythe of barrenness to reap.
SadDhan Gopal Mukerji

Ghosts

Flames flickered in the fireplace, As memories on the hearth of life; Two shadows we, watching, brooding, To catch our reflection In a non-existent stream. The ghost-witness of it all, The clock brings its proofs; Moments melt into moments, Like notes of sad music, Like a white cerement. Cold memories shroud our life; Speech flees before this; Faces turn away from each other; The fire throws light on them; There, too, flames burn and flicker.
SadDhan Gopal Mukerji

Rainy Night

Like tears shed over a dream, Like sighs that stream In an unseen nameless way Into the heart of our lay. It seemed hour on hours, Years like fading flowers Scattered their petals and bloom In a half-lit forest of gloom. The softness of its sounds, Like the coursing of a million hounds Of dream over the glade of sleep Where tortured silences creep. Exquisite, pain-laden, peaceful, This night most beautiful, What love forsaken by loving Sets his heart a'singing?
SadDhan Gopal Mukerji

Remorse

Gently descending dark-- Curtain of silence From heaven to earth; The drama of day over, Empty the seats of life, Dead the twilight fire. Curtains of black Woven from threads of purple By the hands of a star, That lone soul weeping Over the dead hours Laid by mute time in the eternal's grave. In the night of my soul Not even a ray, Nor a mourner present; But a deep dark hollow
SadDhan Gopal Mukerji

The Dream of His Soul

The Dream of his Soul, in flesh and blood-- Not to possess, but only to see-- Was given him, for an hour: Ah, fool, he lingered longer,-- The Dream died like the shadow of a Star!
SadDhan Gopal Mukerji

The Night Builds Her Temple of Rain

The night builds her temple of rain : In the forest a sobbing music Played by the hands of darkness On the scale of dark leaves. No bird-song stirs the soul; Nor the golden dawn-harmonies; A cry, a shedding of tears, A music of sable tonalities. Truly, a temple of silence and sound, A vibrant, and dim solitude, A gray telling of black beads; A prayer, a moan, a dim worship.

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