Effulgent gold and saffron-clad
and wrapped in highest ecstasy,
in bhakta frame He came to flood
the world in love of God, Hari.
Munificent to fallen souls,
He never stopped to check and see
how one was fit and one was not,
but gave to all a guarantee:
“Just take these names,” He said, “and chant
in holy Krishna prema, free!”
“But,” I cried, “I’ve
got no love!”
I’m too bound up and poor in spirit
to even ask for it, though I dance
and chant and try to give it.
Perhaps a trick would work, I thought.
How else to love Him as I ought?
To spread His love I will agree.
When He says to help Him faithfully,
He’ll find He’s caught in words He’s wrought –
He must first of all give love to me!
The Master Trickster silent stood.
Of course, He smiled all-knowingly.
He’d waited long for such a plea –
the plan was His, not mine, you see.
He gave no clue, just watched me try
to do my best because I should.
But perhaps it takes a lot of nerve
to say I chant to spread the love
of God, which I can’t claim to have.
So if they ask, what will I say?
Or will they see my empty hands
and laugh, or turn and go away?
Then came a nudge from Supersoul.
He said, “You have the seeds, you know.
The names themselves are seeds when heard –
from hearing, faith, then love will flow!”
It’s true, I knew without a
Gauranga’d thrown seeds all about!
Such seeds I have and plenty to share,
and the more I chant the more that’s there.
My hands are full, my pockets, too.
In joy I sow seeds everywhere.
I’ll chant to plant these prema-seeds,
then chant some more to watch them sprout,
and chant again to taste the fruit,
and then in bliss I’ll chant and shout!
O Lord Caitanya, please keep me
chanting at Your lotus feet.