Śrī Narasingha
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The hermit finds his joy in silence
Within a cave, upon a hill
From temporary revelry
He gets no pleasure, finds no thrill
He hears the party-goers’ laughter
That the shifting wind blows round
But from his detached perspective
It’s a hollow, empty sound
Devoid of truth and substance
As all experienced wise men know
Tonight’s intoxicated lover
Becomes tomorrow’s deadly foe
He does not mistake lust for love
For he knows well the faithful sing
That real eternal love of God
Is the one and true authentic thing
That makes us happy evermore
Beyond this temporary life
Thus satisfied, he does not seek
A kingdom, fortune, fame or wife
But silence, and aloneness sweet
And distance from the madding crowd
Within his cave, no one can hear
Him chant the Holy Name aloud
With sighs and tears of sacred love
And mood of deep humility
He prays, “Sweet Lord, how can You love
Such a fallen, sinful wretch as me?”
The debauchees and revelers view
The hermit’s sober mood with scorn
But of such tears, the ecstasy
Of eternal love of God is born
Those loving tears are flowers
The bitter vine of pathos bears
God weaves them into garlands
Of grace that His devotee wears
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