Calm on a Sunday Night Calm on a Sunday night and I Among the silent Sadhu birds Rest, and in the Chamber's peace Find solace in the Master's words, "All life is yoga", he replied And though in ignorance we feel The light we sought has waned or died, No oneness in this earth of tears, No beauty through the tawdry days Terror fuelled by unknown fears, All but forgotten, words of praise, And yet there is a certainty Lurking in

Robed in Beauty Though I have wept, held others as they wept No sorrow can suppress the joy I feel When the pale coin of morning turns to silver And the gold of evening drops upon the trees. Long have I lived my days in beatitude. Though I have seen the hurt of this world Always an aureate dawn holds my gaze And in night's cradle of stars sleep peacefully. There has been turbulence and troubled times When my beloved left the fields of earth And I alone

How Best To Serve Midnight and the mind moves in its rounds, Sleep does not come and rest is barely won. I am aware of high nocturnal sounds, Disturbing crickets piercing call begun Shall not end soon but carry through the night. Yet I am in another space, a peace Settled in the heart knows all is right And from the body's pain will find release. I must close the book on all things past Except for souls who helped this soul progress. A new chapter with a chosen cast Has opened up my book of days to bless With nurturing word and firm and loving hands, To tear the cloth of sorrow from my back And walk with me towards those sunlit lands, To

All Things Are Symbols A Wisdom guides our steps along the Way, Faltering and errant though they be. Though we are but a speck in the cosmic vast A conscious spirit wider than the sea, A being that has lived in ages past Inhabits this portion of infinity. I see how night bows down before the day Surrendering its claim upon the land, All things are symbols in the godward game, The stars, the very lines that mark each hand, Numbers, signs and portents beyond name, The inner voice we sometimes understand Indicates an order in this play Divine, in which we have the starring role, A drama of a marvellous design An interconnectedness of sou

Moulding and Transforming Us She left and we seemed left alone To face the fruitlessness of days With hearts of love imperfect grown Remembering her perfect face, Her feet that we had often kissed And hands that blessed the unworthy head. Her body of light is sorely missed Though to our spirits She has wed Her greater light and greater love, Her power that now dwells in us Here on this earth, not far above Moulding and transforming us.

Wounded Heart With all the dead and dying I have seen One would think the darkness like a sigh Had covered me, blanketed my life Or buried me to stifle an anguished cry. Though death is a transition, not a goal When he took the light from my beloved's face To leave the body lifeless and the soul Departing through the gloom in his embrace Then agony was mine and joy had gone, Lost was the sun amid the weeping stars, Riven my life by deep and searing pain And the wounded heart forever marked with scars.

Nothing More Than a Scribe I am nothing more than a scribe. The poem arrives in its own time. I hear the words in the inner ear And write the lines as they descend. Often there comes a continuous flow Unless the useless mind intervenes Wanting to improve upon the muse, But there are also moments when one must wait, Open the soul and let the blessing come, Quiet the being, empty the too-full jar Make space for something new, unheard before. Whether it is poetry or not I leave to wiser spirits to decide. Perhaps it is only a cleansing force, a grace Filtering down through this unworthy head. One thing that I must do is take up the

Mother of Destiny I have loved deeply but not for Thee alone, Have lived and struggled in this human guise, Bitterness and tears my life has known Pushed by unknown hands of entities Into decisions rash and most unwise. I have known passion as a roiling stream And anger's piercing heat that blinded me, The mute subjection to a dull regime Of body's pain and labour's agony The needle of the vital force on empty. I have heard the voice of night and in its dark Unfathomed bosom los

After the OM Choir at Savitri Bhavan The owlsscreech and break the halting peace As cricketsbegin their nightly symphony And scatteron the winds their mouthless song. I have seentonight my spirit's destiny And thoughthe evenings' offering is done I hear theOM resound within my soul. This sacredmusic soaring to the One Who called us here, each to fill his role To bring the heavens down with God's assent, Into the human form awakening The sleeper in his house of rest and dream. Immortalvoices of the angels bring New music to the aspiring soul on earth, To tune the heart of man to Krishna's flute, A rapture and a vision to impart

When Death Stood By 8/26/07 She left before the far hillside Was crowned in gold and I descried The blush of rose upon her cheeks Fading in those final weeks When Death stood by to claim his prize But could not dull in those deep eyes The light that shone from her soul's space, God's splendour in a human face.