Posted October 21, 2009
A poem in celebration of Srila Prabhupada's disappearance day, October 21, 2009.
Bhaktivinod's statement is still
true today that: "He reasons ill" —
the one who thinks that you have died.
If he has said it, then he lied.
To spread the Name, you tried indeed,
and in grand style you did succeed.
The Great Thakur had predicted,
ahead of time, all that you did.
Through the ether and through the air,
more than ever your "sound" is there.
Touching even the dull matter,
it penetrates both earth and fire.
Bhakti within, from Goloka,
untouched by dark Kali Yuga,
you dug the mines of the Veda
for the nuggets of siddhanta.
Sitting down at Seva Kunja,
under the shade of Shri Rupa,
you wrote to fight nirvishesha,
and wipe out the shunyavada.
Then while circling around Bhumi,
sowing the seeds of sweet bhakti,
each night you spoke the Purana
amongst others named "Amala."
Dear Prabhupada, though we miss you,
we know you can be here anew.
By hearing it submissively,
we can carry on your Vani.
For many years, in the future,
you said, humbly, it would endure.
For the faithful true devotee,
tt will stay for eternity.
If we reason "A bit healthy"
we must conclude it is for free;
apart, maybe, for a small fee:
a token called Sincerity.
The powerful Acharya,
the dear father of Siddhanta,
the High Court judge, in human eye,
gave his verdict: You have not died.