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Chinmoy Bagchi Poem
Spent my whole life learning how to survive,
Yet never quite learn how to live;
The mountains, the rivers, the wildflowers wait,
With a beauty I fail to receive.
Too short to live, too long to die;
Quite easy to be hurt, too hard to cry.
I can easily surpass violent storms,
Yet fail to fit into these social norms.
I beg of you, set me free, unbind my soul,
Let me write, roam, and sing without a role;
I do not wish to merely spend my days,
Not live a life confined to borrowed ways.
And when I die,
Please don’t cremate me;
Rather bury me in the meadows,
And sow a sunflower seed above me.
And if religion denies it,
Then burn me into ashes;
But please don’t cast me away
Into the vast sea of vain.
Plant me in those same meadows,
So I may return…
As a wildflower once again.
Copyright © Chinmoy Bagchi | Year Posted 2026
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Details |
Chinmoy Bagchi Poem
I borrowed an ancient and beautiful name,
To bury my grief in another’s old shame.
For they were promised a dawn to arrive,
While I had to learn how to bleed and survive.
A golden swan carried their love through the skies,
And she chose her true king through the gods in disguise.
A dark game of dice stripped his crown and his land,
And he fled in the forest, letting go of her hand.
Yet a clever second gathering called him from afar,
And love pierced the shadow to find where they were.
This is the story you often heard;
You may know the ending sweetly catered.
Let me tell you the story of mine,
A bitter tale that grief to define.
Damayanti was far too tired to trace
The fading prints of Nala's face.
There was no second swayamvara to rise,
No Damayanti to pierce his disguise.
No chariot returned, no forgiveness was spoken,
Some threads are not tied once the fabric is broken.
The gods didn’t weep, and the world didn’t pause;
We simply became who we never once was.
Copyright © Chinmoy Bagchi | Year Posted 2026
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