Jyotipriya and the Spirit's Drought

Can the music that was born in me return

Or is it lost because the heart has failed?

Can still the psychic fire fiercely burn

That all the winds of sorrow have assailed?

Jyotipriya spoke of her ordeal,

A desert dryness rushing on the soul

With never a drop of moisture come to heal

Her parched and painful days like embers of coal

Aflame and nothing to heal the spirit's thirst.

I have stood upon those white-hot sands

Stung by grief and by my sorrow cursed,

A frail and wounded heart in powerless hands.

The spirit's dehydration I have known

When all the life-force in me spent by tears

Shed when I was seemingly alone

And could not front the emptiness of years

Devoid of the beloved's touch, her smile

That vied in brilliance with the blazing sun,

In whose bright ambience I lived awhile,

A love that blossomed towards the silent One.

She suffered drought, sustained by an inner source

The withering attacks and the severe

And painful onslaughts, knowing temporal loss

In the body's battlefield would disappear

When she beheld at last the longed-for face

And bathed in waters of supernal bliss,

Suffered the moment of divine embrace

And on her lips received the Lover's kiss.

I, too, shall wait beyond this life and death

And consecration to the Host shall grow,

For I shall sing again with greatened breath,

My song, my kiss upon His feet bestow.