God’s long shadow
Do not make the dead unhappy,
Baba scolded, by your weeping and wailing.
Another journey awaits us, o pilgrim,
through the broken gate, the unkempt garden.
Death walks this fine morning in God’s
long shadow – efficient, indefatigable servant.
Even Jesus died and those He detached
from Death’s arm, soon returned,
dutifully to resume their coupled trailing
through the lily-rucked garden,
the rank and dew-drenched garden –
the body of Jamshed
arranged in the Tower of Silence
and the Master distributing sweet laddoos.
O pilgrim, loosen your grip on the flesh
long before Death offers his arm,
while Beauty’s ghosts yet linger,
where the apparent loss shall be suffered.
Jamshed was my brother, Meher averred,
but I am Jam Sheth – Death’s Master.
Death has brought Jamshed to Me.
O child of God, living is dying by loving.
Only the truly dead are beyond Death’s grasp.