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|keywords=Prabhat Samgiita,Prabhata Samgiita,Prabhat Ranjan Sarkar,Anandamurti,Ananda Marga,contemplation | |keywords=Prabhat Samgiita,Prabhata Samgiita,Prabhat Ranjan Sarkar,Anandamurti,Ananda Marga,contemplation | ||
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</poem> | </poem> | ||
| <poem> | | <poem> | ||
Music's sweetness I've let drop; | |||
I | With but its trace in memory I soldier on. | ||
With its memory | Tuning my lute to the melodic octave, | ||
I | Fixedly I gaze in Your direction. | ||
Those tunes once stored within my throat; | |||
I | Today, they're all removed, very remote. | ||
Their lingering resonance, its power to enchant, | |||
Even now, in song and dance, I know. | |||
By the rhythm You roused in the heavens, | |||
You've deluged me with what palpitation? | |||
In its very pulse and beats, | |||
I dance incessantly, according to their oscillation. | |||
</poem> | </poem> | ||
|} | |} |