The timeless soul
If one believes in reincarnation and soulmates (explored in one of my previous posts), one must necessarily believe in the agelessness of the soul. What if death is not the end but just a change of body? What if we have the choice to come back again and again to this earth? What form would our soul want to take take? Which places would it want to revisit? Which face would it want to gaze upon once more?
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| Artist: Rabindranath Tagore; Source: artsnewsviews.com |
I have read quite a few poems which talk about the indestructibility of the soul - how it rises from the ashes of death, century after century, in some form or the other. I thought of sharing two unforgettable poems on this theme, which transcend the barriers of language and time, and are bound to touch any sensitive reader's soul with the images they evoke.
The Bengali poet, Jibanananda Das (1899-1954), is sadly, largely unknown to readers outside Bengal, mainly because his works were overshadowed by those of the more traditional, venerable and elder poet, Rabindranath Tagore. Yet his poems are so unique and different from the rest that they deserve to be translated more widely. Reading Jibanananda Das is like stumbling through a labyrinth of eternal yearning created by a poet whose world is neither modern nor ancient, neither light nor dark, neither rational nor irrational, but somewhere in between. Life and death are interchangeable concepts to Jibanananda (whose name literally means "the happiness of life"), and death is never final. Most of his poems touch upon the concept of reincarnation - about travelling along the same paths for a thousand years, searching for the same hope, and even imagining his life in bygone civilizations such as Egypt and Babylon. Below is one of my favourite poems written by him, which talks about how the poet would like to return to his beloved land after death - not as a human but as a bird.
Sonnet #1 (untitled) from "Bengal, the beautiful" by Jibabananda Das (translated from Bengali)
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I shall return to this land -
to the banks of the Dhansiri river, to this Bengal.
Perhaps not as a man -
Perhaps not as a man -
but as a black and yellow shalik bird, or a white hawk.
Or, perhaps, as a crow of dawn
Or, perhaps, as a crow of dawn
flying over autumn's new harvest,
I will float upon the breast of fog one day
I will float upon the breast of fog one day
in the shade of a jackfruit tree.
Or I will be the pet duck of some teenage girl,
Or I will be the pet duck of some teenage girl,
with ankle bells jingling on her reddened feet.
I will spend the whole day floating on duckweed-scented waters...
I will spend the whole day floating on duckweed-scented waters...
Perhaps you will gaze at buzzards soaring,
borne upon sunset breezes,
Perhaps you will hear a spotted owl
Perhaps you will hear a spotted owl
screeching from a shimul tree branch...
Upon the Rupsa river's murky waters,
a youth will perhaps steer his boat with its torn white sail -
as reddish clouds float by;
and through the darkness, swimming to their nest,
you may spot a few white herons.
There, amidst them,
you will find me again.
(Adapted from a translation by Clinton Seely)
In another country, thousands of miles away, another poet was exploring the same themes of deathlessness and the desire to be one with nature after death. Mary Elizabeth Frye's now-famous words have been recited at countless funerals and given hope to millions of bereaved souls lamenting for their lost ones. This poem is so simple yet so profound; it brings a lump to my throat every time I read it.
(Adapted from a translation by Clinton Seely)
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| Source: pd4pictures.com |
"Do not stand at my grave and weep" by Mary Elizabeth Frye
Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow,
I am the sun on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
I am the diamond glints on snow,
I am the sun on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there; I did not die.
If one believes in such an eternal concept of the soul, then maybe the ones we have loved and lost to death are still there somewhere around us, in some form or the other, as no one ever truly dies...
I am not there; I did not die.
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| Artist: Rabindranath Tagore; Source: calcuttaweb.com |
Oh, what lovely poems to start the day with! You are quite right in saying that many may not have heard of Jibabananda Das as the poem you have shared happens to the first I have ever read of his works. If reincarnation is an often used theme, I am certainly going to look for more of his poems:) And, the lovely words of Mary Frye, which like many others I have often come across, still arouse emotions as if they were being read for the first time. Your thoughts so gently meld with theirs that I wonder what you would write if you wanted to express the mystery of reincarnation in poetic form:)
ReplyDeleteThat makes me think..maybe I should share one of my earliest poems on reincarnation on this blog. So far, I've shared nothing written by me over here but maybe the time has come to change that:)
ReplyDeleteDon't think, just do! Am waiting to read YOUR poem!
DeleteDone! You inspired me to hunt my tattered diary and locate my first ever poem, that too on reincarnation! :) I have posted it now, thanks to you :)
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