journal d'une transition

1347

Whatever is seen Partakes of Krishna’s play. What used to be a bunch of thorns Is now revealed As garland,

Whatever is seen Is a glimpse into Mahabharat’s land.

Just as dewdrops resting on a bloom Suddenly flash into prisms of light, So the touch of that reality Suddenly bursts within one’s breast In joyful and sweet anand. To be complete, or incomplete, Is a matter Of individuals. O jasmine, how are you drawn to the touch of the Araïvani?

Just as the Lord, self-created, Was too drawn to their touch.

As the Kuringi every twelve years blossoms, So Kovakam every year opens and beams Into songs.

Gajendran”

*“All creation’s beauty”, poem by Kumar:

“We journeyed far But held in my memory is A new rising, the sense Of another, new world, Absorbing me.

How many colours, I can not count, How many flowers, I can not say, A peace was within

And I was drawn, intensely, Like a subtle wave shifting, Hardly visible,

Till it became so clear, Like a translucent jar Of the brightest milk, A new creation from the hands of gods. The meaning of beauty Opened to me, Through them, they gave it to me, The “aligal”, They, walking as A river flows Fearless and soft and blooming Their hands outstretched with their Offering