There was a pirate who came from afar
Who sank his ship for a h'penny o' tar
He had a scar on his cheek,
Gold in his teeth
And like Prabhu, a thing for the noir

There was a vicar from Kent
Who gave up religion for lent
He enjoyed a spree
Of being un-holy
Nobody knows where he went

For the tourists to impress
She wore traditional dress
She liked the grass skirt
And the flowery shirt
But the coconut bra caused distress

One of the tourists she knew
Was really enjoying the view
He bought her a drink
Tickled her pink
And said may I remove it for you?

The limerick man was on top
He was writing such a lot
The barrel he dredged
He lost his edge
And didn't know when to stop

Mine is Gopal, the Mountain-Holder; there is no one else.
On his head he wears the peacock-crown: He alone is my husband.
Father, mother, brother, relative: I have none to call my own.
I've forsaken both God, and the family's honor: what should I do?
I've sat near the holy ones, and I've lost shame before the people.
I've torn my scarf into shreds; I'm all wrapped up in a blanket.
I took off my finery of pearls and coral, and strung a garland of wildwood flowers.
With my tears, I watered the creeper of love that I planted;
Now the creeper has grown spread all over, and borne the fruit of bliss.
The churner of the milk churned with great love.
When I took out the butter, no need to drink any buttermilk.
I came for the sake of love-devotion; seeing the world, I wept.
Mira is the maidservant of the Mountain-Holder: now with love He takes me across to the further shore.

~~~~~~~
mere to giridhara gupaala, duusaraa na koii |
jaa ke sira mora mukuTa, mero pati soii ||
taata, maata, bhraata, baMdhu, apanaa nahiM koii |
ghaaM.Da daii, kula kii kaana, kyaa karegaa koii?
saMtana Dhiga baiThi baiThi, loka laaja khoii ||
chunarii ke kiye Tuuka Tuuka, o.Dha liinha loii |
motii muu.Nge utaara bana maalaa poii ||
a.Nsuvana jala siiMchi siiMchi prema beli boii |
aba to beli phaila gaii, aanaMda phala hoii ||
duudha kii mathaniyaa, ba.De prema se biloii |
maakhana jaba kaa.Dhi liyo, ghaagha piye koii ||
aaii maiM bhakti kaaja, jagata dekha roii |
daasii miiraa.N giradhara prabhu taare aba moii ||
__
Notes

I am the translator of this poem, "Torn in Shreds" by Mirabai. I did not copyright it; it's in the public domain and everyone is free to help themselves to it. I simply request that it appear with my name as the translator.

Johanna-Hypatia Cybeleia

Main hoon dasi
Kisi ki naukrani nahin
Na koi kaharin
Main hoon devadasi
Devalayon ki shobha
Sada saanjh ko
Kanak deep jala
Devstuti kar
Khud ko bhagyawati samajhti
Main hoon devadasi
Yahi to hai mera garv
Wah din yaad hai aaj bhi
Raja ne jis din meri pratibha
Ko samjha
Mujhe devadasi ka pad saunpa
Mere premi mere devta
Prabhu
Sada raat ko jinke liye
Ghunghroo pehen naachti main
Lekin garima meri hai aisi
Aashiq mere anek
Naachti jab main
Mujhe dekh
Woh kya maza lootte
Mere punya ko chhente!
He prabhu
Jeeti hoon ab
Roz shoshan ke dar mein
Uddhar Karo naath
Tumhari patni nahin
Aakul bhagat ki to guhar suno
Uddhar Karo prabhu
Kehlaun mein
Punya devadasi!

First of all I wanna make it clear to all of you who are reading this article that I don't wanna be rude or sound pesky. And I just want to disclose my views about God.

God is a reality. Period. But God is inactive. Period. That God has actually created the universe with its faulty physics and biology because just as they say, everybody is imperfect. Period. Even God is imperfect and embodies all the imperfections known. Period. God created the universe and then slept, letting the greatest divine agent Time to take control of governing everything from physics and biology while considering the chemistry of all things. Period. God has neither born, nor It has died. Period. Neither God is a male, nor it is a female.

Time is God and time must never be wasted praying to Ishwar, Jesus, Prabhu, God, Rabba, YHWY or Bhagwan.

No, in no way is this a blasphemous article. But yes, another futile attempt to awaken humanity. There's a world much more important than just being permanently immersed in an imaginary divine entity's worship.

I am not a believer in the popular notion of God or Allah or Yahweh or Prabhu or Bhagwan or Rabb or any other concept.

I do believe that something has created all of it but that power isn't as selfish to make its creations worship it. The power will be happy if we remain faithful towards life on Earth and do not conduce in destroying any form of life that can express its pain animatedly.

I despise the promise of a place in an imaginary place called heaven or paradise if we comply with the words conveyed to a single person by the fictional creator or the punishment in boiling oil if we don't comply with the words conveyed to that fictional man.

Heaven is nowhere if logic is to be heeded to, but heaven is now here if love, compassion and brotherhood towards all creatures on this planet is on our minds while all of us humans loyally comply with our duties.

Any creator, that will tell a man (probably on marijuana) in his dreams that nonbelievers are to be either converted or killed before the descent of Pralay/Qayamat/Doomsday, is a figment of imagination which propagated through the course of time.

Do good, practice fidelity to your family and your Karma will be balanced to help you attain Nirvaņa.

LATAJI THE LEGEND

Know we all, honey is indeed very sweet; but my Lataji's voice was even sweeter than honey

In fact the sweetest voice on our planet was her's; exchange it India wouldn't for loads of money.

Every year, I sent you a poem on your Prabhu Kunj address; this time, I am confused, absolutely clueless

But offer you my devotion, reverence n love; requesting Maa Sarasvati, to you bless.

Pleased and happy will be the Gods n Goddesses to have our nightingale up there, with them;

For what more can one wish for, when with them, they have the Kohinoor, a precious most gem.

HAPPY HEAVENLY BIRTHDAY LATAJI. WE MISS YOU N PRAY FOR YOU.

Armin Dutia Motashaw