Your advent footfalls, so quick and tender,
Your sandal prints, rudimentary, Lord,
Your instructions in the dust
of such a wee, tumbling planet
in the green blackness
and brilliance of Infinity,
one brief spark in the Eternal,
coming down to meet us (You warned)
what could You ever have said
that would reach our ears
on so tiny a stretch of our journey,
where the stepping stars
must be leapt before inheritance
might be crowned and wielded?
Flesh and earthbound now,
beyond yet the nuances
of our most noble sensibilities,
when we are not outright oblivious,
we stand abashed and ashamed,
mute at best, before the subtle, cursive,
most holy fluency of our Creator.
O child of God, so rudimentary the Word of Meher!
So condensed in Its fateful power and efficacy!