Zeitgeistlyrik: THE TIBETAN PRAYER WHEEL (Satis Shroff)

THE TIBETAN PRAYER WHEEL (Satis Shroff)

(Subtitle: O, cry with me)

Adieu winter,

The signs of growth are here,

Between sunshine and rain.

There’s a subtle greening everywhere.

People work line bees,

Cutting and pruning weeds

Using their ancient hoes

To plough the terraces

The joy that plants have survived

Beneath the deadwood.

There’s optimism in the air

And with it hope,

When crocuses rear their heads.

Lovely lupins, delphiniums and daffodils,

In the meadows of the Himalayas.

People are bathing in the tributaries of holy rivers,

Chanting vedic hymns.

Those who have lost their mothers,

Remember them through rites,

Followed by a bath in the river Matatirtha.

The sound of thundering hoofs in Tudikhel,

In the heart of Catmandu.

Snorting and foaming horses,

And cheering Nepalese.

Spectators who watch the great chariots

Of Bhairawa and Bhadrakali.

The joy of the fresh air,

In the tranquility of the blue Mahabharat hills,

Where life begins anew.

The blackbirds, finches, thrushes

Twitter and chirp to the glory of Prakriti.

In Springtime we awake with expectations,

Of pleasure and new luck.

The tourists have come.

The mountains are beckoning me.

No, it’s the tourists with dollars,

Who want to be celebrated in the media,

With heroic selfies

Or camera-teams.

O, go not to the mountains, my love.

End not in a crevasse

Or beneath an avalanche.

I shall not cry for you.

My father died for the tourists

On the lap of Chomolungma.

I’m doing it for our children’s education.

The Tibetan wheel turns relentlessly,

O cry with me.

****

It’s Summer where moist southern winds prevail.

Your body, mind and spirit,

Are one with Nature.

The flowers bloom and cherries get ripe,

‘Kaphal pakyo, kaphal pakyo,’

Sings a a bird.

The day lengthens

And the clouds cannot hide the Surya.

Soon great clouds bring rain.

Indra gives his blessing:

Monsoon.

A gift to many,

A curse for few.

The sun shines now

And the leaves sag.

The frogs dive in the pond,

The dragon fly hovers awhile.

There’s life and beauty in this transient world.

Summer brings enduring happiness

To one and all,

When trees blossom and bear fruit.

The paddy planting season is over

In the Vale of Catmandu.

The Newari  jyapu farmers sing songs

And rejoice.

The sun fills our lives with light,

Positive thoughts prevail.

The wonderful scent of the roses,

Butterflies dancing over Himalayan orchids.

Your fingers touch and feel

The silkiness of the rose petals.

People sing in praise of the cow for eight days.

The holy cows of Catmandu wear garlands.

The prayer wheel turns unceasingly,

O cry with me.

** * *

Chilly Autumn arrives soon enough,

The summer flowers,

Those dear friends have gone.

Asters and chrysanthemums still greet us.

People celebrate the festival of lights,

In honour of Goddess Lakshmi.

Even the common crow is worshipped this day.

For the crow is the messenger of Death,

To the Hindus: Yamadoot.

Another day the dog is garlanded and revered,

For he is Bhairab’s steed.

The third day of Tihar belongs to the cow,

The reincarnation of Lakshmi.

If you beat a cow you might be punished

With a life in poverty.

The fruits are ripe now,

Waiting to be harvested.

The sun’s rays become mellow.

The leaves turn golden, russet, brown.

The paths are strewn with dead leaves.

We reflect about our own lives.

The dying leaves,

A metaphor of your short existence,

On this beautiful earth.

With splendor of Summer gone,

We become thoughtful and melancholic.

What has fate in store for us?

In this epoch of Kali Yuga,

Wealth has become the personification

Of success and career.

If the Gurkha survives he comes home,

With presents for his family.

Others remain cremated in foreign lands.

Nothing endures in the cycle of life.

We come, grow up, live our lives

And go.

Thereby making place for others.

Akin to the sunflower that ripens,

Provides shade and seeds,

Follows the whims of the sun,

And wilts.

Even green leaves die.

The wheel of life waits for no one,

O,  cry with me.

** * *

The sky is sunless,

The tree branches look like emaciated humans,

Hands reaching for the sky,

In poses of suspended animation.

The nights are cold and dark,

All seems lifeless, dead, buried,

Beneath the white snow.

No bird sings.

Misty mountains veiled,

With dampness everywhere.

The cold makes the people remain indoors.

Winter means respite,

A time for solitude and contemplation.

Read books, watch DVDs, tell tales,

Time for Kaffeekranz elsewhere,

With the family or friends.

Hush, life is merely asleep outside.

Come Spring and life blooms,

In the meadows, in the woods and gardens.

Worms start tilling the earth.

Even in the cold and darkness of winter,

There are faint signs of life,

In the microcosmos off the beaten path.

Prakriti is regenerating,

Despite the onslaught of the elements:

Snow, wind and rain.

Nature survives and we gather hope.

The old Tibetan wheel turns eternally,

O rejoice with me.

© 2015, satisshroff, all rights reserved