The Song of Krishna by Harindranath Chattopadhyaya is a poem of Krishna consciousness. Here he feels his love for Krishna. Through Krishna-prem and Krishna-bhakti expressed through the lines, which one may come to mark it herein, the poet comes to grapple with the things of realization. Whose bounty is visible upon? Whose blessing is it showered upon? It is a strange Krishna poem so far read; herein a potter is making the images or playthings is the matter of deliberation and the potter is none but God the Maker.

Krishna blue or dark is but a question of spiritual debate and discussion. What is blue if not the dark emitting bluish light. Shyam, Ghanashyam is but bluish hue seen in the black clouds looming around and darkening; it is in the hills shining blue and as such the hue of Krishna. Just we need to be colored with.

Out of black mud a flower makes a way through so graciously and as such is the grace that it appears to be that heaven and earth in perfect harmony, liaison as for endowing with. How can a beautiful thing appear out of the mud? How can it be so lovely and fascinating? How can it be charming? The poet means to say good earth is the beginning and end of it all. The power of the black mud is the source of our joy. Everything has but been created from mud. It is also strange to see a flower flowering mystically. The color of the paint startles us, the delicacy with which it is endowed with.

When it gets dark, fireflies start flying about with the twinkling light, glimmering and glowing beautifully. On the boughs, over the trees, onto the green grass, the firefly can be seen hanging onto. Sometimes over the green grass it can be seen seated upon. The light is such that it can even belie the stars. The firefly flying and lighting is really a marvel. The way it shines into dew-laden grass, the way it glimmers over a creeper and even flies to be on tree-tops, it is beyond our scribbling.

What I am today, or am seeing, it is but God’s grace. His grandeur is in it all. But to see God’s creation is  to see deflating one’s ego and hypocrisy. If you are not shorn off, how will you? The world is a gem. All the glories are but His glories.

To-day I heard
The black mud sing a blossom into birth
As though it were all heaven’s bridal word
Shyly pronounced to earth.

Out of the dark
A firefly flowered and flashed and floated by,
In the green splendor of its single spark
I heard the star-deeps cry.

To-day I saw
Myself, a thing of glory, shadow-shed,
And saw the world, a gem without a flaw,
Flash in the holy crown upon my head.