Suriya ... - Miracle is Me

Oh Mother, they throng in multitudes
Just to have a glimpse of you;
The rich, the poor,
The lonely, the desolate,
Just to be touched by your cool rays;
The endless flowers offered,
At your feet every day,
The fruits, the offerings, oh faith!
Enshrined and revered:
Oh mother!
The kaleidoscope of images,
On the four towers,
Oh north, Oh south, Oh west, Oh east,
Bare feet, cleansed, I circle,
Walk into thy shrine;
The poets, music, in air, divine.
The enchanting dancer,
By your side,
The devotees throng amany:
The silk, the flowers, the fruits,
Gold, silver, money aplenty,
All in thy offering!
Stately though art, Oh fish eyed one;
Ever a smile and blessing for everyone:
Miracles you have showered on them,
T hey so helpless with none but you,
Throng from far, near to you;
The tears of joy in wounds healed,
When thy cool rays cleanse their agony:
Unseen, unknown, unheard,
The silent prayer and the still more silent miracle;
My mother, you have blessed me thus,
I stand before you in tears of joy,
I have seen the miracle, Oh my deity!
And the miracle is me! ! ! ! !

Suriya ...

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