Saturday, July 13, 2019

Toward a graveyard silence

Toward a graveyard silence                                                   

Even in a choir these days you can always tell
which throat is mine – it’s the one

shot through with an arrow
(like the piercing of a heart)

thick with blood, sounding less and less true,
moving toward a graveyard silence.

I’m tired of singing, of telling, advocating,
arguing.  Only my mind still wants to argue.

My hands are done with finger-pointing;
my heart weary of rebuttals.

(To disagree is so . . . disagreeable!)
My eyes want only to read –

read the hearts of others and find them free
of any blame or error on my account.

O child of God, how peaceful it is when your heart
goes for a long, brave ride and your mind takes a backseat.

The heart's tender

The heart’s tender                                                                                  

Not for the fainthearted, said my Lord – love,
borne of strength and true understanding.

Acts of compassion absent of submission
and faith are tainted by fear,

anger and sanctimony; the false assumption
of duty and authority.  The way of love is not

to become tenderhearted 
but to become the heart’s tender –

where God is met and looked after,
keeping down the head;

not to be pulled aside, bogged down,
intimidated by the sentiments

and enticements (good and evil) of the world.
Keeping one’s self to one’s Self –

the only authentic relationship, leading to
the birth of peace and the truth of action.

O child of God, the best you can do
for the world is turn inward.

Friday, July 5, 2019

Child of God

Child of God                                                                                            

An identity and a relationship;
a way of addressing myself

in the last couplet; not so bold
as inserting my name

into the body of the poem.
It was chosen for me,

its truth revealed a thousand poems later – 
this settled upon child of God

being who I really am – all I really am
and who I must of my own accord

solely become, eschewing all other
false, ephemeral and relative identities –

poet, author, mortal man;
father, grandfather, brother, son;

husband, lover, citizen, friend . . .
pared down to this one identity,

this one naked fundamental –
my relationship with my Creator.

O child of God, this sole relationship
carries the prospect of no relationships at all.

The rags of sham

The rags of sham                                                                                    

Fake news – a term long ago coined by my Lord.
Articles chosen from a newspaper (say, perhaps,

the Times of India) read aloud  
by a mandali member and Meher Baba

would comment on them.  Bogus news, He called it.
A routine way to dissolve anger, fear and discord

in the purity of His blessed assurance. 
Our news today comes from the world’s elite –

the experts, anchors, pundits, pollsters, professors;
the New York Times, the Washington Post,

Fox News, NPR, the Networks, the wire services.
Still it is the same rags of sham –

fake news – for the very same reasons
declared so then by Meher Baba:

Because of the utter gross ignorance, the bias
and incapacity, the fundamental misconceptions

of the worldly people who gather,
read, write, distribute and advocate it.

O child of God, the only all-knowing source of truth
is your Real Self.  All else is bogus news.