Even This Shall Pass Away

I re-read this poem after many years in a compilation of poems by A. Parthasarathy of Vedanta Academy. I happened to read this at a time when a colleague of mine is going through a very difficult phase in her life....I could not help but wonder if this will be a balm for her bruised soul..While searching the net came across this in a blog by "Intelligent tree" ( thanks to you , i could copy paste the poem)

Even This Shall Pass Away

by Theodore Tilton

Once in Persia reigned a King,

Who upon his signet ring

Graved a maxim true and wise,

Which, if held before his eyes,

Gave him counsel at a glance,

Fit for every change and chance.

Solemn words, and these are they;

"Even this shall pass away."

Trains of camels through the sand

Brought him gems from Samarkand;

Fleets of galleys through the seas

Brought him pearls to match with these;

But he counted not his gain,

Treasures of the mine or main;

"What is wealth?" the king would say;

"Even this shall pass away."

Mid the revels of his court,

At the zenith of his sport,

When the palms of all his guests,

Burned with clapping at his jests,

He, amid his figs and wine;

Cried, 'O loving friends of mine;

Pleasures come, but not to stay;

"Even this shall pass away"

Lady, fairest ever seen,

Was the bride he crowned his queen.

Pillowed on his marriage bed,

Softly to his soul he said:

Though no bridegroom ever pressed;

Fairer bosom to his breast,

Mortal flesh must come to clay-

"Even this shall pass away"

Fighting on a furious field,

Once a javelin pierced his shield;

Soldiers, with a loud lament,

Bore him bleeding to his tent.

Groaning from his tortured side,

"Pain is hard to bear," he cried;

"But with patience, day by day,

Even this shall pass away.

Towering in the public square,

Twenty cubits in the air,

Rose his statue carved in stone.

Then the king, disguised, unknown,

Stood before his sculptured name,

Musing meekly: "What is fame?"

Fame is but a slow decay;

Even this shall pass away.

Struck with palsy, sore and old,

Waiting at the Gates of Gold,

Said he with his dying breath,

"Life is done, but what is death?"

Then, in answer to the king,

Fell a sun beam on his ring,

Showing by a heavenly ray,

"Even this shall pass away."

Comments

A holiday with self :)

A long overdue blog about the path that I was seeking , or did the path seek me out ? Over the years the sheen of belief was wearing off and I was beginning to question the master about the magic - about faith becoming commercial, about what Bhaskar stated, "This is all about money". Packing my bags off and going solo isn't very uncommon in my life, but this time I was not on work per se. Checking-in into the Ashram, was on my bucket-list for ever-since, and it was an amazing experience. Despite the crowd, the ambiance just reverberated with a mix of reverence, energy , faith, hope, prayer - and questions too ! Like I mentioned before meditation was not about spiritual pyrotechnics, but a metaphor connected to life. Like the corner I chose had a vantage view of the stage and despite a stench that started emanating from the corner, I just could not leave that place, for the view that corner offered got me stuck there. Life is like that, we are often stuck in the rut , ...

Morning bells are ringing ......

Heidi lived in Alps with her Alms uncle - I read this story in a book that was called The Big Big Story Book and it had a compilation of amazing stories that were my first foray into the world of English story books. Recently on a long flight I watched the movie much to delight of the young steward who was our attendant that night. My first glimpse of the Alps was from our flight ...the dawn breaking to spread the orange hues over the snowy terrain...looked mesmerizing even to someone who is not too fond of the mountains. Switzerland was beautiful, with its manicured terrain and flowers like pretty maids all in a row, picture perfect setting and breathtaking, like a touch me not porcelain beauty. Coming from my "elo melo" city I wondered how people managed to keep a country so organized , I have trouble keeping my room in ship shape...... No, I would not like to live there ......it's too distant and too cold ,but what I will carry in my heart is the awesome time .......

The road may be narrow and dark

This write up came back with a note of regret – for not being able to make to the next round in the competition, to the editor's table. Well, this is the first time I competed , that is if I do not count the House Competition essay writing, where I came second after Champa. Actually I do not why I took part – chance, curiosity or plain gambling …..because writing for me has always been a catharsis – an expression that I can share …..So no regrets , really! The road may be narrow and dark…….. It was 1983 and life with Baba always veered on the unexpected and the adventurous. Like that road trip from Kolkata to Delhi via Agra. We had this faithful Ambassador that took us on this journey with Baba at the helm and our cleaner Kalipada as his first assistant. I was the official navigator and Giri uncle, my father’s friend, in charge of our ummm, let’s say security, since me and my cousin Dimpi, both all of 18, needed an escort , officially. Baba always liked the un-tr...

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