A few poems

A few poems I wrote the other day. I just felt like writing, nothing more. 

How can a child repay its mother

            for bringing him up?

How can a disciple repay his spiritual mother

            for showing him his Guru?

Even a lifetime of gratitude

            would not be enough.

Since I am still a mother's child

            and do not have full strength in my heart,

I know I cannot yet offer

            a life complete of gratitude.

So I have resigned to writing poems.

*

Even if I do not know how to write,

            you let me write

Even the occasional

            beautiful thing.

You do so out of Your Compassion,

So that I may spend my time

            thinking of You

            and not my self.

*

How can I write anymore

            if the pen in my hand

Can only move by a Force within me?

It is not I who write;

Writing is not for a caveman like me.

Writing is for the devotee who,

            Even though he does not know anything

Still he wishes to worship You.

*

Once I tried to write a poem,

            But I decided there was nothing to write about.

You have already written Everything.

            Writing now would be

Like plucking a flower from a tree

            And offering it to You.

Because

You Yourself made the flower,

You Yourself made the tree,

You Yourself made me.

*

You opened a bakery and let me play

            pretending I am the owner.

As the bread leavens,

            So Your expectations of me grow.

Yet when they flourish,

            I offer them to a customer

And forget

            That they were born for You.

*

Today as I meditated

            A stream of lines came.

As I hurriedly wrote them down

            My pride grew and I forgot:

I forgot that it is You who made me,

            You who woke me up,

            You who made for me a shrine in the world,

            You who made me meditate.

But you just *let* me write,

            And I feel all responsible.

*

A flower lasts only so much,

But not You.

If we use the most beautiful words

for the flowers,

Then what words shall I use for You?

*

Everybody speaks of a garland of gratitude.

I must be honest. I never made one.

Or at least, not one totally befitting You.

Therefore, I keep on writing.

*

Once I cried for You

Because I could not see You,

I could not feel You.

It was all needless tears.

You were there all the time,

Like the light inside my room.

I had only closed my eyes.