Contact the Sri Chinmoy Centre

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Local contacts: Australia • Bangladesh বাংলাদেশ • Bosnia and Herzegovina • Brazil Brasil • Bulgaria България • Canada • Czech Republic Česko • Croatia Hrvatska • Estonia • France • Finland Suomi • Georgia საქართველო • Great Britain • Ghana • Greece Ελλάδα • Hungary • Iceland Ísland • India • Indonesia • Ireland • Italy Italia • Japan 日本 • Kenya • Macedonia • Mongolia Монгол • Nepal नेपाल • Netherlands Nederland • New Zealand • Portugal • Puerto Rico • Russia Россия • Serbia • Singapore • Slovenia Slovenija • Slovakia Slovensko • South Africa • United States

• German-speaking countries/Deutschsprachige Länder Germany, Austria and Switzerland
• Spanish-speaking countries/Países de habla hispana Spain, Central and South America

A Symphony of Eternal Gratitude (poem/gedicht)

What compels the wave to break upon the shore?
By whose bidding speeds the sun across the sky?
Who instigates the autumn leaves to gather on the forest floor
And transforms a lowly worm into a butterfly?

His works we see, but not the Hands that wrought them,
Their whereabouts are shrouded in a mystic hush,
Yet as the fragrant rose is upheld by its thorny stem,
So God by man: His chisel and His brush.

The same Hand that thrust the stars into the Heavens
Built China’s wall and carved a David out of lifeless stone;
He who was inspiration inside Shakespeare’s pen
Moved Rembrandt’s hand and sat on Akbar’s throne.

Yet all the world’s greatness is His passing show,
His Fancy’s Festival, a mere prelude,
While He awaits the sacred hour when the world will grow
Into a symphony of eternal gratitude.

Abhinabha