In The Bosom of The Master's Hour
IN THE BOSOM OF THE MASTER’S HOUR
In the bosom of the Master’s hour,
Lies the transformation of my lower nature:
The pangs of Ego, lust and greed,
The bonds of attachment, anger;
The black mist of fear, one day,
Will be forever gone from me.
And, as the shadow without reflective aid,
Will disappear like tender youth.
Never will I be able to resist
The heavenward pull of the Supremes’
Lovingly piercing Light.
Oh Faith, how sweet is thy vision,
Of an unwavering and ceaseless march
To ever-transcending horizons.
With the snail’s plod-like pace,
And the surety of God’s loving Grace,
Onwards do I march
To the shores of immortality.
Ode to Falling Snowflakes
Soft as silk, and
Delicate as the breaking of the dawn.
I see your jeweled spectre,
In the bosom of Allah’s celestial Light.
Tender as a flower,
Yet strong … aspiring to be free.
Thank you for the falling kiss,
On my accepting brows.
A little seed of gentle yearning
Will manifest in time,
To life’s longing for its Self-fulfillment.
Again, you brought the touching zephyrs;
Handed them to others caught,
In the maya of life’s struggle.
Noble sentiments expressed,
Invoked in me insightfulness,
Of your enchanting freedom.
As rocks await the lashing of the waves,
So do I long for
Sheltering drops and soothing touches,
In Your aesthetic presence.
Embrace me with your smile so pure;
Lash my face with your garments breath;
Squeeze me with thy hovering poise
In celestial flow.
Thus we’ll travel through the firmament,
With thoughts of pain no more, no more.
- Manatita 24/06/05.
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