Footsteps...
Editor’s note: I am still only a student. I have yet to learn the mysteries of our 16th century princess. The following should be, chronologically, before the last post. I add it now, in hopes that you will forgive me for my erroneous cataloging.
My dear Giridhari,
My little sweetheart. Why are you such a pain? My darling. Why must you forsake me just when I feel I need you most? My very life’s breath. Is it that I feel that need only when you forsake me? My undoing.
Grandfather says I am to marry the young Rana. I do not know him. I do not want him. But in this physical world, I do not matter.
Do I not matter to you, as well? I cannot breathe without you.
Does this Bhojaraj long for me as I long for your sweet caress? Does he crave my sidelong glance the way I melt when I but close my eyes and see your round eyes? Is he in the dark, the scar-filled night where I clamber about like a mad-woman, scurrying from life to life like a rat in search of subsistence?
He cannot. He cannot love me as I love you. What does love matter? What do I matter? Only you matter.
But if you matter, why do you leave me in this pain? If you can cure this with the crescent moon that crests your little finger, why cause me to dwell in this impermanence?
Why do I rant so… I am a fool, asking questions of a cold-hearted criminal.
I am a fool, wishing this life and every life could be my song.
I am a fool. Loving one who cannot be owned.
Perhaps I do understand the poor Rana. To love someone to whom you are but a tiny atom. This cannot be happening.
Take me away before I hurt him, Kanna. Take me away before I cause him the pain I am in now. Take me unto yourself, where I can do no harm. Take my soul.
Heri mhaa darad divana mhaara darad na jaanya koya?
Ghaayal ree gat ghaayal jaanyaa hibado agan sanjoya...
Jauhar kee gat jauharee jaanai kyaa jaanyaa jan khoya?
Meera ree prabhu peer mitaangaa jab vaid saanvaro hoya...
I’ve gone mad in His love. No one can understand my pain.
This deep wound no one can know. The pain of giving oneself and thus, losing oneself.
Only a jeweler knows the value of a jeweler's work. How can any other know?
Meera turns eyes to her lover’s bed… her deathbed… in the sky, where we shall meet someday.
My dear Giridhari,
My little sweetheart. Why are you such a pain? My darling. Why must you forsake me just when I feel I need you most? My very life’s breath. Is it that I feel that need only when you forsake me? My undoing.
Grandfather says I am to marry the young Rana. I do not know him. I do not want him. But in this physical world, I do not matter.
Do I not matter to you, as well? I cannot breathe without you.
Does this Bhojaraj long for me as I long for your sweet caress? Does he crave my sidelong glance the way I melt when I but close my eyes and see your round eyes? Is he in the dark, the scar-filled night where I clamber about like a mad-woman, scurrying from life to life like a rat in search of subsistence?
He cannot. He cannot love me as I love you. What does love matter? What do I matter? Only you matter.
But if you matter, why do you leave me in this pain? If you can cure this with the crescent moon that crests your little finger, why cause me to dwell in this impermanence?
Why do I rant so… I am a fool, asking questions of a cold-hearted criminal.
I am a fool, wishing this life and every life could be my song.
I am a fool. Loving one who cannot be owned.
Perhaps I do understand the poor Rana. To love someone to whom you are but a tiny atom. This cannot be happening.
Take me away before I hurt him, Kanna. Take me away before I cause him the pain I am in now. Take me unto yourself, where I can do no harm. Take my soul.
Heri mhaa darad divana mhaara darad na jaanya koya?
Ghaayal ree gat ghaayal jaanyaa hibado agan sanjoya...
Jauhar kee gat jauharee jaanai kyaa jaanyaa jan khoya?
Meera ree prabhu peer mitaangaa jab vaid saanvaro hoya...
I’ve gone mad in His love. No one can understand my pain.
This deep wound no one can know. The pain of giving oneself and thus, losing oneself.
Only a jeweler knows the value of a jeweler's work. How can any other know?
Meera turns eyes to her lover’s bed… her deathbed… in the sky, where we shall meet someday.
posted by crazybard at 12:17 PM
2 Comments:
beautifully written. read your writing somewhere that meera was your's. i think it's the other way around.
there is no point loving him, meera, my dear child. he will draw you closer, till you can see noone else in your life. then he will laugh at you, let you fall, and all that surrounds you will be an emptiness your heart wont find the space to fill.
beautiful work!
moko kahaan doondhe re bandhe?
hey meera! your love is pure, your obsession is divine, your vision of KrishnAh!, is something people would/should die for! hey meera, the queen, the divine being yourself, what dint you have? You were born with the finest of just about everything material and the finest of everything immaterial. KrishnaaH..
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