I got inspired one morning and wrote them in one go.
As the Jasmine and Gardenia
“Supreme, I love You”.
Even as the jasmine and gardenia
Elucidate You without words,
This capital “I” and “You”
Represent our affair of oneness
Spanning centuries and millenia.
Yet it is “You” who made “me”
Aware of it.
“ ‘I know, Master, your Compassion is my sword,
Your Compassion is my shield
And your Compassion is my victory’s crown,
Which I shall place at your feet divine.’ “*
(this last quoted section is by Sri Chinmoy, Great Indian Meals, part 3, p. 17)
For anything I have came only from You
Why do I write?
I am silly
Idling away my time.
If only I could love You,
That would be a fair and worthwhile use of time.
‘Worthwhile’ is easy to understand.
But ‘fair’ only someone so helpless like me could understand,
For anything I have came only from You.
Everything starts with You
Why do I hear the birds chirping today?
They could be chirping nevertheless, but
Why did I have to hear them chirp?
My writing is the same.
One day You told me to,
And I did it.
Everything starts with You.
When everything it sees is You
One day I will be forgotten
And that will be a relief,
for I will be born again, and again.
To think that nothing will remain
Except for You
Is also a relief.
My tiny heart yearns for the day
When everything it sees is You.
Before we play, I want to sign a contract
Agreeing that You will win.
Only I forgot:
We have already done so, so long ago,
That I forgot.
Next time, I will add a clause
That You will not allow me to forget
But even then
I will try to breach it.
No wonder I call You
The Lion and the Lamb
Why the Lion
And not me?
It is clear from Your Silence
That I myself should become like that Animal,
Majestic for what it is,
Courageous about doing what is needed,
Ruthless when doing what is needed,
Indeed a Beast of a Man,
Sitting like a sweet lamb beside Your Throne,
Yearning for a pat of Your Hand.
You play with my life as in a game of chess
Steadily snatching away my armies and defenses
Until the time comes to take away my main powers,
And yet I yearn, while still playing,
For the day when I will
Action is worship
Why have You created words?
Or flowers and fragrant incense, animals and peoples,
And mountain ranges and galaxies myriad?
It is all for Your worship –
We are all priests, and our every
Action is worship.
The English language
In day to day, crisp and straight.
In pens of masters, towering and majestic.
To the beautiful words and mantric sentences,
To the generous and commercial language
That offers its life breath as a workhorse of mankind
That gives voice to spiritual fountains of light that are some men
I do not wish and I do not intend to let end my life
Without even once bowing my head low, very low
To that starclad, majestic and humble jewel
The English language.