SUR KAMOD

CANTO I
1
Thoug art Lord and I sevant
Inme is birth of all the sins
Seeing queens of high origins
O spurn not me away from you.
2
Thou art King, I fisher’s maid,
In me all the ills excel;
Finding in me the fish smell,
Do not O Sir disown me.
3
Thou art Lord God of hosts,
The lowly-born I earthling
Being nearer to You O King!
But I ask pardon for my folks.
4
Fish their food their all estate
Flesh, bones, and fishing kit;
Yet them made, Lord His
Who were of such poor spirit
“O Sir! Who are sans all merit
those my folks, take to thy care.
5
Who but wallow in the mud
And go about naked in laks;
Comes HE to them for her sake
Sits with them in thatched huts.
6
Fishers being familiar now
All the time unto Him come
Each young and old, man and woman
Would hie to His palatial home
Be they at Kinjhar or Rome
Rewarded by Him are all alike.
7
She would not catch the fish now
Nor kill nor cut nor sell it;
Her basket she lowers to Love
And looks in with longing spirit;
And takes to that holy habit
That is practiced in Lordly house.
8
Away, out ye! High-born queens!
Arrive who arrogance-dight
In, within ye! Kinjhar-borns!
Lowly love, who Heavenly Wight.”
Amidst the queens last night
The fishergirl got the love-jewel.
CANTO II
Beneath is water above grass
Up on marge the trees grow;
Lover and Beloved both in boat
In Kinjhar shall ride and row
And when there north-winds blow
The lake becomes as cradle-bad.
2
Beneath is water above grass
Around the lotus flowers float;
Waft winds as from boat
The lake becomes scene of scent.
3
“Wash up all your huts O fishers!
Lord of of hosts doth come to you
Put away pains, O poor folks!
Do your dooryards all a new.”
Comes HE to Kinjhar’s crew
And opens His fold to all of them.
4
What a wine she carried in eyes
In both her bowls offering it;
That brought the Lord of land to her
Drew Him to her dear spirit;
That taking Himself fishing kit
With her goes HE to the lake.