Preface

There are poems that speak, and then there are poems that sing—whispering to the soul in rhythms as ancient as the stars. Narayana Guru’s Viṣṇu Aṣṭakam is one such rare creation, a luminous tapestry of devotion, vision, and lyrical grace. As you step into its verses, you are not merely reading; you are being invited into a sacred space where the divine and the human meet, where every word is a brushstroke painting the ineffable.

From the very first stanza, the poem unfolds like a prayer, its imagery vivid and alive. The petals of a red lotus become the eyes of the divine, radiating warmth and wisdom. The milk-ocean shimmers with an endless, tranquil light, and the serpent’s couch transforms into a throne of cosmic majesty. These are not just descriptions—they are doorways, inviting us to see the world as infused with sacred presence, where even the humblest elements of nature reflect the infinite.

The language itself is a melody, each syllable carefully chosen to resonate like a chant. The rhythm sways between reverence and intimacy, as if the poem were both a hymn and a whispered secret. You can almost hear the cadence of a river in its flow, or the steady breath of a meditator, drawing you deeper into its current. There is a musicality here that transcends translation, a reminder that true devotion is not confined to words but lives in the spaces between them.

At its heart, this poem is an act of love—a surrender, a longing, a recognition of the divine in all things. The speaker bows, praises, and takes refuge, yet there is no fear in this devotion, only a profound tenderness. The verses speak of a God who is both fire and solace, who destroys demons yet cradles the world with infinite compassion. It is this balance of awe and intimacy that makes the poem so deeply human, so achingly relatable. Even if you do not share the tradition from which it springs, the emotion is universal: the yearning to connect with something greater than oneself.

Structurally, the poem is a journey. Each stanza builds upon the last, moving from outward visions of the divine to the innermost chambers of the heart. We begin with grandeur—lotus eyes, celestial ornaments, the expanse of creation—and gradually descend into quiet devotion, where the divine is found in the simplicity of a bowed head or the offering of a flower. The form mirrors the meaning: just as the seeker turns inward, so too does the poem, guiding us from wonder to worship, from observation to union.

And then there are the subtle truths, woven like golden threads through the verses. The divine is both transcendent and immanent, beyond time yet present in every moment. It is the destroyer of suffering, the fulfiller of desires, yet also the silent witness within. These are not abstract philosophies but lived realities, offered without pretense or dogma. The poem does not argue; it simply reveals, inviting us to see with new eyes.

To read Viṣṇu Aṣṭakam is to embark on a pilgrimage—one that leads not to a distant shrine but to the center of your own being. It is a reminder that the sacred is not somewhere else, but here, in the pulse of your breath, the turn of a phrase, the quiet surrender of a heart in prayer. May these verses stir in you what they have stirred in countless others: a sense of wonder, a spark of recognition, and perhaps, a longing to kneel before the beauty of the unseen.

—The Editor