Deliverance from a Dark Universe
In the beginning of time, on a lotus of gold,
Brahmä, creator, did the darkness behold.
But hearing the Lord, he reflected within,
And receiving knowledge sublime, the destroyer of sin.
Brahmä then spoke, four Vedas to teach,
The form of the cosmos now within easy reach.
A universe new-born, full of hope and quite pure,
Did displace the darkness, as if it would ever endure.
In those days of yore, magnificence prevailed,
Vedic truth the foundation that all beings hailed.
But now the world’s filled with error; what is truth we must guess-
It seems that men who are evil are the ones who knew best.
Over a hundred trillion years have past since day one;
The second half of Brahmä’s life span has already begun,
In this very moment of his time, which is an age to us,
Darkness has returned, like a blinding cloud of dust.
For Brahmä is the father of wicked beings too,
Like Irreligion and Falsity, from whom descended a brood.
One rules us now; his name is Kali, or Quarrel.
Souls we are, eternal, but spun life after life
Around the wheel of saasära, in torment and strife.
Human birth is the one chance by which to get free,
But human life’s just like hell in the Age of Kali.
Maddened with lust, seeking relief in the sewer
Of nasty sense pleasures till we feel death’s sharp skewer,
Which lifts us squirming, dripping the filth of our sins,
And drops us in the abyss to wear fur, feathers, and fins.
Yet those who are learned worship this age,
In which the Lord has appeared, our cruel fate to assuage
By giving His name, both the end and the means
Of knowing Kanëa’s within us as our dearmost friend.
But I was born far from India, and had not Prabhupäda come
To the brutal Western world, and this movement begun,,
How would I who was dumb, have ever spoken the name?
How see and walk, since I was blind and lame?
How wondrous this miracle: to be delivered by you
From ignorance profound, and to have brought in my view
My spiritual home, where all souls belong,
Far beyond this aging universe, where everything’s gone wrong.
You are the pure servant of Kanëa, and you never fear
To preach boldly forth, for He’s your charioteer.
You mix with the fallen, but your motive is pure:
To give them Mahäprabhu-kapa, their offenses you endure.
O most perfect of sages, you teach sambandha –jiäna,
Reversing the tide of a civilization so damned,
By technology gone mad. But now we can use it for God,
To print books and expand preaching and expose the whole fraud.
This revolution you’ve inspired has only just begun;
We’re only seeing the first rays of the mighty Kanëa sun,
Which will rise streaming glory, giving us sight,
To get free of the confusion of Kali’s dark night.
To fully know your greatness is beyond my small brain.
If I could just look in my heart, it all would be so plain:
Beyond the anarthas, the residue of sin,
Where the pure soul shines forever, never separate from Him.
For your greatness is the reality, so simple and true,
Of the soul’s eternal bond to Çré Kanëa, the youth
Who so loves His devotee who can do naught else but serve,
That He gives him all the help as only the pure soul deserves.
You’ve come to us, Prabhupäda, just to prove that He’s there,
Within all our hearts. And the test is quite fair:
In this dark age of Kali, let us preach as you’ve shown,
That Kanëa will help us, and in the end take us home.