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