The Hour of Departure

The stillness of the forest at the noon

The silence in the mountain-top retreat,

Alone I walk, my love has left too soon,

The path predestined for my erring feet.

The metallic smell of rain upon the soil

And the sweet and heady scent of new mown hay,

But I am bound by the body's toil

Unable to find again the sunlit Way.

On earth awhile she seeking beauty found

By love and sacrifice the spirit's path,

I spread her ashes on the holy ground

Of Auroville in the body's aftermath.

My heart in sorrow's iron grip remains

And the fires of my aspiration, coals,

Yet One who knowing all preordains

The hour of departure for our souls.