When the Hour of God Draws Near Why should a stone be more than a stone Even in the poet's coloured eye, Is it not too a receptacle of God Breathing its days a measured Deity? Why should the water turbulent or calm, The soil, the body of our Mother, earth Be more than water, hold greater claim than soil, Aspire to be of more intrinsic worth? Why should a man be other than a man Who hoards his days a miser cheating death? Yet man contains the seed to transcend life To grow into a vaster, wider breadth Of being and acquaintance with the One Who lives in him whose voice he does not hear, And moves his life towards

Arunachala Shiva Tonight the Deepam festival, the moon On Arunachalam casts its glow On pilgrims called by the Maharshi's peace. They walk in silence round the sacred hill. I stood before the room wherein he lay And took his final breath upon our soil. A peace descended, vast, unshakeable, Down through the head and through the silent heart Resting at the navel's lotus base. Two years before I heard an aged man With toothless mouth intone a silver chant, 'Arunachala Shiva'. And as he sang He left this human field and for awhile Merged with the One to whom he offered his song. A companion behind his frail body sat And rarely have I seen such

The Near and Far of God Some go uncomplaining to their death Unconscious of the meaning of it all, Hear not the subtle voice that is their song Feel not the breath of God upon their soul. Content to be, to breathe and procreate Or monk-like live within the spirit's cave Astounded at the darkened state of man, As Illusion see the march towards the grave. Some are called a greater work to do, To free the spirit from the chains of fate And touch the soil on which the angels dance Or the secret find beyond the mystic state. Others destined to journey deep within Look on the paths that former births had trod Aware that life i

Museum of Modern Art They looked at paintings, sculpture, photography Intent to unlock meaning and to see, Some passed by without a second glance Others sought the illusive master key, Examined each stroke and marvelled or dismissed. Russian, French, Italian, Japanese Speaking a hundred tongues, their sentences Falling upon my ears like scented flowers Dropping from a clear and azure sky. I rested awhile and watched emotions play Across the landscape of each unknown face And yet I knew them all, descended here Into the oblivion of daily life. I saw them crowding down the subway stairs Or crossing without care congested streets, Ch

All Gratitude to Thee Nov. 28, 2006 All gratitude to Thee who having come A light into the chamber of my soul, Awakened one who slept unconsciously Dreaming blissfully of worthless things, Desire and the fruits of earthly life; One who descended from the heavenly realms Entered an earthly body and forgot. Through years of slow awakening thy hand Upheld, protecting arms enfolded me, To the spirit's aspiration gave consent Kept safe the troubled child that from thee strayed And nourished the spark grown now into a flame.

To the Undying Light A plaintive cry as of a wounded soul Caught in a net of ambiguity, The closeness of a lover's clasp she knew, Sweet intimacy and the eyes exchange. How swiftly flies the arrow passion-tinged, A torment and a joy within the heart And bodies longing never to depart From the enfolding arms, delight's caress. And yet a yearning for a diviner state, A merging of the spirit with its source. The inner loneliness cannot be filled From any human fount but God alone Must come into the temple well-prepared And lead the seeker to the undying Light.

Towards the Fires of Dawn I wait alone in the cave of unconsciousness The unfailing transformation of the soul. Darkness clings to me like a towering cloak Covering obscurities of self, Hiding the light I know to be my own. The coins of freedom fallen from my hand Drop silently upon the carpeted floor. I laugh among companions then I weep Alone within the forest of the mind. Death comes to all around me whom I loved, Who offered in my grief comfort's words And smiled in the distance with the failing light. Soon I shall leave this hermitage of green Whose flowered greetings sing to me each day, Where hawks and swans and snakes befrie

Three Haiku for Kelly 8/19/06 Nearer now The mountain peaks That seemed so distant in my youth. I look on things With wondrous eyes As the newborn fawn perceives the world. Friend of my soul And Mother's child Your love turns back the press of time.

A Higher Calling Each day is a discovery of sorts In the lexicon of my limping way, For example I have found that I have warts, Oh, not the physical excrescences But the encumbrances of thought that stay My growth with their repetitive retorts. There are lines so stale and hackneyed yet I smile As old clichés that repeat themselves on end Like worn out clothes sadly out of style, Loss and painful reminiscences. There is a part that does not bow or bend Yet tolerates this nonsense for awhile. I work alone with my beloved flowers In a garden that is surely half divine Turning the soil as God turns the hours. I scan the stars and ma

If This Be My Last Hour Once in an oceanic dance of death, The secure earth from my feet removed, Helpless in the violent undertow, The mighty waves crashing over me, No strength remained, no voice within the surge Could summon aid from that now distant shore. Drowning I was calm and said to Her, "If this be my last hour then my life I give to Thee for the blessings and the light And grace that Thou has poured upon this head. I offer up my soul in gratitude And ask that I may serve in future lives Thy will upon this earth I worship so." My arms outstretched I lay in calm repose, The struggle ended I spoke alone Her name. As answer to