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.

The Gates of God One who is in every changing form Reveals himself as lover, child or friend I sang him once but slowly and with age Have lost the power and the opening That once could fill the vacant halls of space As youth poured out God-given melodies. When the inner work began the voice was stilled And hid itself inside the cavern-heart To await the day when song as offering Might blossom as the flower to the sun And self awake to light illumining The treasure lost or hid from mind's desire. I am on the path, yet distant yet my home, Eternity not time enough to grow Unless is kept alive the flame of faith On consecration's alt

See Not the World that Is Disharmony in this house is deified, Indolence, inertia rule the day, Petty will and egos magnified Hold the ground and turn the seeker away. And symptomatic of life the world abides The lust for power, visible enmity Unable to see the light our darkness hides, No modicum of common courtesy. I have seen sincerity and inner fires In some who seek a truth yet unrevealed To the visionless or blind from life's desire's Or those who keep the sacred chamber sealed, No radiance, no love can penetrate. Absorbed in self and closed to all things new Perpetually confused in mind's estate Inapt to separ

OWLS The owls in the Banyan tree Look down with nodding head And winking eye upon this strange And silent gathering of souls. Surveying our tribe they speak And fly from limb to neighbouring limb. Chattering, the three of them In wonderment at such a crowd Meeting as the sun awakes Over the golden dome and then Lights up the leaves and human hearts. Our concentration done they fly Into their hollows and crevices Sleeping

In That Golden Air Each morn I wake the leaves grow brighter still Unwilling to release their fragile hold And I unable or without the will To redesign this fated life, remould This being divine yet lower than the clod, Half animal who burns with inner fire For roads unseen and avenues untrod To reach beyond the stars for something higher. Where now the soft and silken folds of peace That lined the treasure

Her Grace Instilled The heart resolved, the flame yet higher grows And all begins to slowly coalesce. A body still unconscious, mind's unrest, No sure and firm commitment to the goal, But something seeks, a being nobly strives, A consciousness desirous of its source Acknowledging the power of the Name, Her Grace instilled and all-embracing love, His calm attends and sweet compassion's flow That keeps the vessel on its godward course And joy within no sor