Sounds of kirtana flood the air, all but the holy name is heard.
The dust of Vaishnavas' lotus feet bless all throughout this war-torn world.
Ocean waves of clashing karatalas, gleaming golden in the sun,
Mridanga rhythms pace our hearts, Vaikuntha dancing carries on.
Godless darkness cripples hope, but one sun lights the way
Breathing life into dull matter—a token price to pay.
O brother, hear my broken song, though unfit I am to sing;
In Kali's age the one last chance to us my lord did bring.
And now he leads the kirtana as it resounds through all the worlds.
Come and see his great exploits, please listen to my words.
Prabhupada leads the kirtana party, Gauranga by his side,
Dancing, chanting in prema-bhakti, the holy name his pride.
Nityananda, Adwaitacarya, on either side of the Lord,
Gadadhara and Srivasa Thakura attend His every word.
A little behind the Panca-tattva, six Gosvamis dance:
Sri Rupa, Raghunathas and Jiva, Sri Gopala, Sanatana.
Behind Gosvamis come the acaryas, then Bhaktivinoda Thakura,
Gaura-kisora dasa babaji, Srila Bhaktisiddhanta Thakura.
They all praise Srila Prabhupada, bestowing him their best;
Blessings are for those who carry the orders of the rest.
They urge him on with pleasing smiles, jaya Prabhupada,
But he is just a humble servant, serving their command.
Prabhupada plays a blue mridanga, a palanquin behind,
Radha-Krishna, bedecked with flowers, ride a golden simhasana.
Loving devotees carry Their Lordships, worshiped by all the worlds,
Sri Sri Radha-Gopinatha, whose beauty surpasses all words.
The procession passes through towns and streets; people come to see.
Of those who view, a few decide to take our company.
Prabhupada clasps them by the hand. How would you like to serve?
Take a position to your liking, just do not leave or swerve.
There are other mridanga players following Prabhupada's beat;
Karatala players, singers, dancers, all clasp his lotus feet.
Thousands of voices join together, the ecstasy of the name
Swells in tides of transcendence, to share one common aim.
Behind the party are devotees, editing Prabhupada’s books,
Layout, translation, production, just one word, one look
Will change the heart of conditioned souls, start them on their way.
Spiritual life begins anew, hope for a better way.
Legions of devotees with tear-filled eyes, books in every arm,
Take every risk and every chance, lest others go to harm.
Without his books, what hope is there, forlorn fellow man?
Drink The Nectar of Devotion, worship Srimad-Bhagavatam.
Some launder the soiled clothes of those on hari-nama,
Others cook, with gladdened hearts, sumptuous prasadam.
Some wash pots and others set up tents in advance,
Some bring water to the thirsty or massage those who dance.
The sankirtana party of Prabhupada, oh, what great bliss
The International Society for Krishna Consciousness.   
Traveling through the universe, the procession makes its way
To lonely planets of concrete streets, where smog blots out the day,
Into the heart of asphalt jungles, where the animal is man,
Transform the atmosphere anew into Sri Mayapur Dhama.
The jivas come in different dress, white, black, and old,
Young, males, and females, there's room for all, they're told.
While passing through one town in a snowbound north country,
He cast his loving glance my way, as I had come to see.
He caught me up and pulled me out, one foot in the grave,
As I embraced my chains of madness, another industrial slave.
Sometimes I distribute books, sometimes I erect the tents,
Sometimes I cut trees to clear a way for great events.
Whatever position, being a member is certainly a great boon,
Managing others, taking prasadam, having darsana in his room.
Bliss it is, but hard-earned bliss, for maya is always there;
Prostitutes lining the road are poised to drag one in their lair.
Charlatans offer different types of intoxicating brew,
Bewilder minds of naive Vaishnavas who look for something new.
Demoniac scientists create computers from homogeneous soup;
Bewildered by mile-long formulae, some may even bloop.
Religionists and speculators quote sectarian books.
Bewildered parents wave old diapers, casting longing looks.
Imitation kirtana parties often pass the other way.
For those who don't keep him in sight may dearly have to pay.
Conditioned minds attached to madness sometimes are inert,
And shameless senses given rope will always tend to flirt.
But the party moves undaunted, though some may fall away.
Prabhupada goes to save them, or "they will be back some other day.'
City to country, planet to universe, hari-nama must go on.
Prabhupada leads in ecstasy an eternal rising sun.
Then, one day, we turn to see Srila Prabhupada has gone;
No longer dancing with us, he has decided to move on.
Some other part of the party has received his kindly glance,
Some other land, some other world is witness to his dance.
For us who tend his orders, to lose sight of him?
But looking down, his footprints clearly mark the path we're in.
Now those who assisted Prabhupada must maintain the same beat,
Recalling the instructions they learned at his lotus feet.
Others come to help keep time, and make the pace anew.
Cooperation is our guide—Srila Prabhupada wants us to.
The holy name, the holy name resounds in every ear;
Its ecstasy removes all darkness, frees us from all fear.
Others come, his desire is heard, take up the banner too.
This movement is infallible, our shelter is Mahaprabhu.
Chant with us, dance with us, read the books we bear,
Take prasadam, know Lord Krishna, be happy is our prayer.
After going round the kirtana, what things I haven't done?
I find myself with bag in hand, a service to be won.
Within the bag unlimited books, Srimad-Bhagavatam
"Take some help from others," says the drummer Bhagavan.
Bottomless bag of unlimited books do Prabhupada’s will.
Distribute books, distribute books, distribute more books still.
As we distribute, people take and read with great delight.
This is our vow to do the needful and take up the fight.
Our last request that with unflinching mind we may go on
Undeterred by Maya’s traps to chant Lord Krishna's song.
And in our service sometimes we may gain his company,
That he may come to where we chant, that sometimes we may see
His radiant smile, loving glance, and forceful reprimand.
Our master, Srila Prabhupada, let me forever be your man!

Homage to Srila Prabhupada by Sivarama Swami - 1985