Whiter than the snows of the Himalayas,
Lighter than a peacock feather
Was my heart once, soft and subtle.
It became hard, rough, unsensitive
Like the rocks bordering the Kalpathy river
Where people from both banks
Beat and beat their soiled clothes
Before bathing and after bathing.
Surface looks smooth now, really?
Hasn’t the beatings and beatings
Made the soul and body stiff?
More beatings, more stiff;
The outward look a bluff.
Wanted to sink into the sand bed
Or flow away with the river
Into an unfathomable ocean
To return never.
The winds from the Western ghats
Came then with a good news
My Lord is around the hills!
And his cows glaze on the slopes!
The sound of the bells, I hear
Are from their movements and
Not from the shrines on the bank!
No, what a wonder, my Lord is here,
Right on my head!
Thumbing and beating
With His lotus feet
And I’m Kalia, the blessed serpent!
Continue Krishna, continue .
Your leg beatings on my head.
They’re musical beats
For the flow from your flute.
Why should I get sunk into the sand bed
Or get washed off into an ocean bed?
