Stripped to the waist, hair tied back,
lean and sweaty, the mandali at Your elbow
as You labored to build a fortress
where thousands of Your lovers gather
to lay hearts and flowers, but for years
the work progressed unacknowledged
and even the mandali had no idea
the foundations You were laying,
the mortar, blood, sweat and stone
encircling that holiest of holy ground ....
Planted in the hillside, Your body
growing a garden built of solid walls,
well-rooted neem and banyans,
crisscrossed paths Your feet wore down;
established by Love and ardor to endure
for as long as forever needs to be.
O child of God, He spent a lifetime laying stones
for the years to come without His human form.