Wednesday, August 28, 2013

Gopala's last lullaby in Vrindavan

Sleep my little boy, sleep my blessed rain cloud.
Sleep my night's soothing song, sleep my lovely dark calf.

Tomorrow the demons shall come for you
and spirit you away from my grasp.
The flute shall fall from your hand
and no more song shall you sing.

Tomorrow the wraiths shall ensnare you
and you shall go their corrupt way.
No longer will you lie with your charming tongue
about how monkeys stole the butter or
about how a peacock with its glorious plumes
distracted you on the way to a rendezvous.
Lie you shall for kingdoms and princes,
for land, gold, power and victory with
cunning words that are wicked arrows
laced with honeyed venom.



Tomorrow you shall walk away,
no longer a cowherd's son,
no longer a cowherd.
Tomorrow you shall walk a king,
whose sleepless nights are lost
longing for a woman's touch,
a simple meal and the dust under your feet.

Tomorrow my child, you shall lose your song.
But tonight sleep in peace.

Because
tomorrow you shall forsake me.
But when you are forlorn and bereft of hope
I shall not forsake you.
The hunter will give you
my last kiss of peace.