My Master, when I think of you,
Tears come in my eyes.
Born to another country,
Tongue and skin,
I ask the question, “Why?”
Seemingly separated forever,
By the hands of time and space,
I shall never forget the hours
I gazed upon your face.
With each visit of your memory
The tears began to fall,
Moved by deepest gratitude
To hear again your call.
Your call pulsing in my veins,
A pounding hammer’s beat,
Summons made three centuries ago
By the mighty drum, Ranjit.
On the ground the white horse dances,
Above, the white falcon flies.
Soldier saints are here arising
To heed your battle cries.
I cross the ocean of my tears,
Stretching far and wide,
To meet you after three hundred years
At the fort of Anandpur Sahib.
S.S. Gurukirn Kaur Khalsa