At The Samadhi

Only the sound of sadhaks sweeping leaves,

Feet bare, backs bent low and the intermittent

Caw of Indian crows breaking the peace -

Coarse brooms, their swishing motion meticulously

Across the concrete, now across the soil.

Flower bedecked Samadhi silently

Accepts the prayers of supplicants while bees

Sated among the flowers slowly fly

From lotus to rose upon the scented breeze

And I through the centuries walk slowly by

The Service Tree while around me devotees

Press their heads and hands to the cool-white marble stone,

Disciples aged and infirm, youthful, mature,

Relieve the burdens of their lives, atone

For grievances and offer up the soul

With cleansing prayers and aspiration's fire.

While the swish of brooms continues methodically

We rise a half-step nearer to the goal.