THY CHARIOT
VISWANATHA
SATYANARAYANA
Proudly
bent on its course
And
cruel in its speed,
Thy
car was whirling on.
My
frail form was crushed unto death
Beneath
the chariot wheels,
And
streams of blood gushed forth.
Thy
car, divinely bright, stopped not a moment
In
hesitation that aught impeded its progress;
Nor
did it veer round to note the sudden wail
That
went up from my bruised heart.
At
early dawn, dread Lord, Thy charioteer
Will
wash the blood-stains from off Thy chariot wheels,
But,
how from amongst the blood-stains of millions
Wilt
Thou spot out mine?
Translated from
Telugu by ADIVI BAPIRAJU