The Beauty of Jap Ji Sahib
A Poetic Rendition Part 8
Grace abounds, beyond all recording,
The Great Giver gifts without requiring.
Countless warriors beg at Your door,
Many more beyond counting.
Many live in utter depredation,
Others receive but remain thankless.
Many fools wallow in gluttony,
Others are afflicted with sorrow and hunger.
These too are Your gifts, Great Giver!
Bondage and freedom flow from Your dispensation,
Of this, nothing else can be said.
The oaf who tries,
Can only come to grief.
You alone know Your dispensation
Few grasp this intuition
Those You give the gift of praise and adoration,
Nanak, are Kings among Kings.
Priceless their virtues, prized their trade,
Priceless the traders priceless the warehouse,
Peerless the dealers who make the exchange,
Precious that love, blessed are those immersed.
Immutable the Law, enlightened the Court,
Balanced the scales, precise the weights.
Beyond fathom Your gifts, signs of Your presence pervade,
Magnanimous Your mercy, charitable Your dispensation.
Invaluable Your excellence, beyond description,
Countless have tried, exhausted into silence
The Vedas and the Purans seek to narrate
The learned discourse and explicate,
Brahma and Indra strive to speak,
Krishna and the gopis in their manner speak,
Shiva attempts to decipher, the Siddhas attempt to peek,
Innumerable Buddhas strive endlessly,
Demons and angels alike,
The devout, the virtuous and the wise,
Endless are those who try,
Unlimited have come and passed,
If their numbers were to be surpassed
Beyond reckoning You would remain.
You are as You please,
Known only to Yourself
If one were to explain Your span,
Surely would be marked as a fool amongst fools.
Where is the portal, where the dwelling,
From whence You watch over Your creation?
There, endless sounds, instruments and players abound,
A divine symphony, melodious sounds.
Air, water and fire all sing your song;
Dharam Raj, the angel of death, sings at Your door,
Chit and Gupat, the recording angels, sing in tow.
Shiv, Brahma and their consorts sing in Your praise,
Indra seated on his throne with attendants in tow sing of You.
Ascetics in long meditation, sages in deep contemplation
Celibates in self-denial, the content in self surrender,
Dauntless warriors – all sing to Your praise.
Pundits absorbed in scripture, reciting the Vedas through the ages
Women of bewitching beauty, in the worlds below and above,
All sing to Your praise
Jewels and gems of Your creation, the sixty eight places of pilgrimage,
Mighty heroes in battle, the four sources of creation,
Worlds above and below, created and sustained by You,
All sing to Your praise
Steeped in divine love, the bhagats sing odes to You
And countless more that Nanak cannot recall.
You are Eternal, True Master, forever True the Name
You always were, always will be – You, who fashioned all creation
With diverse colors, forms, species and Maya too.
You behold Your works,
As it pleases You, so runs Your writ – none can order You around!
You are the King of Kings, Nanak walks in Your Will.