The Song of My Beloved

The Song Of My Beloved

Oh, listen!
I want to sing to thee the song of my Beloved.
Where the soft green slopes of still mountains
Meet the blue shimmering waters of the noisy sea,
Where the bubbling brook shouts in ecstasy,
Where still pools reflect the calm heavens,
There thou wilt meet with my Beloved.

In the vale where clouds hang in loneliness
Searching the mountain for rest,
In still smoke climbing heavenwards,
In hamlets at Sunset,
In the thin wreaths of fast disappearing clouds,
There thou wilt meet with my Beloved.

Among the dancing tops of tall cypresses,
Among gnarled trees of great age,
Among frightened bushes that cling to the Earth,
Among long creepers that hang lazily,
There thou wilt meet with my Beloved.

In ploughed fields where birds are feeding noisily,
On shaded paths that wind along full and motionless rivers,
Beside banks where waters laps,
Amidst tall poplars that play ceaselessly with the winds,
In dead trees of last summer’s lightning,
There thou wilt meet with my Beloved.

In still blue skies,
Where Heaven and Earth meet,
In breathless air,
In mornings filled with incense,
Among rich shadows of a noon-day
And long evening shadows,
Amidst gay and radiant clouds of the setting Sun,
On its path on the waters at the close of day,
There thou wilt meet with my Beloved.

In the light and shadows of stars,
In the deep tranquillity of dark nights,
In the reflection of the moon on still waters,
In the great silence before dawn,
Among the whispering of trees,
In the cry of birds at morn,
Amidst the wakening of shadows
And the sunlit tops of far mountains,
In the sleepy face of our world,
There thou wilt meet with my Beloved.

Keep still, O dancing waters,
And listen to the voice of my Beloved.

In the happy laughter of children
Thou canst hear it.
The music of the flute
Is His/Her voice.
The startled cry of a lonely bird
That moves thy heart to tears,
You are hearing this voice.
The roar of the ancient sea
Awakens the memories
That once were lulled to sleep
By His/Her voice.
The soft breeze that lazily
Stirs the tree-tops
Brings the sound of
His/Her voice to thee.

The thunder among the mountains
Fills thy soul
With the strength
Of this voice.
In the roar of a vast city,
Through the voices of the night,
The cry of sorrow,
The shout of joy,
Through the ugliness of anger,
You hear the voice of my Beloved.

In distant blue isles,
On soft dewdrops,
On breaking waves,
On the sheen of water,
On the wing of flying birds,
On the tender leaves of spring,
Thou wilt see the face of my Beloved.

In sacred temples,
In halls of dancing,
On the holy face of sannyasis,
In the lurches of drunkards,
With the harlot and the chaste,
Thou wilt meet with my Beloved.

On fields of flowers,
In towns of squalor and dirt,
With the pure and the unholy,
In flowers that hide divinity,
There too is my well-Beloved.

The sea
Has entered my heart.
In one day,
I am living a hundred summers.
Oh, friend,
I behold His/Her face in thee,
The face of my well-Beloved.

This is the song of my love.

Jiddu Krishnamurti
1895-1986
From the Indian Tradition
Edited by Aquarius

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