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When I look at the crowd in the market place
I see many faces, many histories
Covering them all in a veil
They come and go night and day.
None will know their stories
And they themselves do not know.
They are not mute
But under what they say aloud
The things they keep in mind
And the things they forget
Flow like secret streams
No sound is there, there is no light
They are invisible from outside
There none has any access.
All these unspoken words
All these unheard stories
Of these innumerable men –
From unknown times
Like unseen streams
Are forever flowing into death –
What happens to them
What is their purpose!
O God, whatever I have seen of you
Whatever I have known of you
Their manifold I am yet to know
For whom their mystery remains unknown
For whom do they wait?
If you don’t have a key to that secret
Then who holds that key
Who is that great unknown
In whose unknown realm
You have your place?
Does he know all our secrets
Does he love us
Has the unknowable revealed its mystery
Before his loving eyes?
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