In Winter's Womb is Hid the Child of Spring I am swayed by both remembrance and regret And buffeted by storms that seem to last Beyond the soul's endurance and forget The higher calling, haunted by the past. I stand upon a plain in present time, A tortured Janus, the future looking back, Hesitant to dare the daunting climb And all my life a weird and winding track. I know there shall be other births for me Too much remains undone, the spirit weeps For the hiatus in my destiny And lone within its silent vigil keeps. Now in the season of the dying leaf One feels that death could shatter everything Yet i

A Song Yet To Be Sung I have seen wisdom in a young child's eyes And beauty flowing from a wizened face, Truth looked down on me from a cripple's chair And the lame showed me a singular grace. The blind have smiled at me as I walked by, The deathly ill shining from their bed Blessed me with the strength to carry on, I saw joy upon the countenance of dead. I feel a smile of earth, a smile of sky, The fierce embrace of the South Indian sun, The mountains call me to their solitude With the creatures of the earth I am one. There is a music waiting to be sung, When all the hate in human hearts has flown Before the winds of Truth

Father Knowing him nothing did I know. He kept his anger hid beneath his skin Desire and prejudice rarely did show; Even his love was closeted within. The thrill of life ran pulsing through his veins He could not drink enough of earthly gifts, Yet little of the man I knew remains But memories that come in waves or drifts. I fiercely loved him when I was a child And loved him more as year on year sped by. Although my days rebellious, vain and wild Must have stung his soul, I rarely saw him cry, Not at my mother's death did a tear flow Or as the family perished one by one, But when my sister died it hurt him so He collapsed before the l

Beauty Must Be Found Beauty must be found, she is not dead In the violent upheavals of our age. Without her face to guide, her hand to lead Our art is a scrawl on a smudged and tattered page, Our music not more than a discordant din, And poems lost in barren fields of prose, The human soul dressed in a garb of sin. Where now the exquisite language of the rose, The melodies that set the spirit free, An architecture founded upon love, A poetry uplifting by its grace The darkened mind, the hardened heart to tears.

The One I Know But Cannot Name All self-loathing feeds upon itself And larger grows encompassing the soul, Anger blinds the eyes, invades the heart Impatience cripples our walk towards the goal. As a scientist tests and tests again His theories and discards without concern The failures that were certain of success So we must look into our depths to learn The reasons we embrace out darker side Forgetting why we came and ply our round Of commonness or worse, at evil's call. The spirit waits, certain of its ground Certain there will come the light of truth And set the being on its course again To follow in the fo

I Am The Tree There was a time not many years ago When every leaf had fallen from my tree Of life and only barrenness remained, The roots of my existence were exposed, And sorrow was the bitter fruit I bore. For one had left who was my comrade soul. Such beauty dwelt in her that all the earth Could not recall a time when spirit bloomed More beautiful than heaven with its flowers. Yet One, divine and powerful to mould My willing yet my most resistant clay Fashioned anew the branches of my being, My soil to bear Her bounty of delight. She gave me strength alone to stand and grow When those whom most I loved were meeting death. Now is the s

Re-sculpt the Human Image What more shall be is better left unsaid. I gather peace around me like a quilt Of down and sink into a deep repose, Unconcerned with future, present, past, Although the imprint of the years remains To be erased from the template of the mind. I am no longer the being I once was And far from that which one day I shall be, In the silence live and on my lips a prayer, "Re-sculpt the human image I have carved That soul may leap forth from its prison cell And luminous, light the path on which I go For you alone hold my destiny."

God Who Dwells In This Resistant Clay In this happy sanctuary where the green Creeps through grasses and anoints the leaves I walk alone where once her feet had been And something deep within my being grieves, For her hair dancing in the slightest breeze Her eyes like diamonds lighting distant seas. I am troubled by the demons of my past The way is steep, my steps grow more unsure, My thoughts are clouded over and the vast Flame I was I cannot now endure. A thousand thoughts assail the tortured mind Where rise desires of the darker kind, I hear the De Profundis of the soul Suffering and the eternal cry

Haiku in India Homeless cur Afraid of all Looks at me through sorrow's eyes. Old one-eyed hag Smiles at me Behind the jasmines in her stall.

Time of Change Today the grey mist covering the lake, Caresses thirsty leaves, anoints the soil. The long years pass and I am half awake As in the garden of our love I toil, But somewhat slower now, I feel the change That comes upon the soul in times of grace. I am led to clean this house and rearrange My life and all attachments must erase. But knowing not the future I wait to see Or hear the inner call, unerring guide Who charts the steps of this soul's destiny The silent one ever at my side. For even in loneliness does beauty come To find within my heart her native home.