The fruit sublime Climb out farther on the
limb, the utmost ends, where the sublime fruit
grows, only the rare ones eat – assorted birds,
extraordinary climbers, graceful, long-throated
beasts. You’ve been rooted too
long in the shadows, settling for the
ordinary. Climb where the limbs
splay and sag under your weight; know the body’s full
price. Your soul, fed on such
fruit, eventually will leave this
entanglement and with the birds soar the farthest reaches of
the sky. O child of God, you’ll
transcend this realm, when you’ve developed a
taste for the fruit sublime.
Utter stillness I have always adopted, in
this human dilemma, the rational approach, but, secretly, I long for
a love that makes no sense. My every motive is
self-preservation, while my heart’s wings
propel me, inexorably, toward oblivion. Let those royal falcons
build their nests in the clefts and crags
of Your holy mountain. I want only to throw
myself over the edge. Let them haunt the rugged
peaks. My fate is farther down
the slope, where Your ocean swallows
me. Below that rugged
exterior lie the quiet disintegration
and utter stillness I crave. O child of God, your
longing is romantic and self-serving. When will you see
yourself as you really are?
Sweet on the tongue They gave You a lovely
name, sweet on the tongue – they called You Mercy. Other names would have
sufficed – Purity . . . Valor . . .
Fidelity – but not quite hit the
mark. Mercy is what we’re
begging for with Your name on our
lips. O Meher – Compassionate
One, sweet on the tongue, the sacred Rose around
which a multitude of
nightingales – Your name in their mouths
– gathers and sings, hoping
to catch Your ear. O child of God, the
Beloved has a thousand names. Call Him by the one that
drips like sugar from your lips and tongue.
Abandoned houses Tonight my
heart’s fire rages; nothing to do but throw
myself in the river flowing at my Beloved’s feet. Once, I
drifted free as a ghost. Now I am rooted in holy soil like the
neems and banyons on the path to my Beloved’s door. Under a
dormant sky, the restless ocean heaves and sighs. How can the
gulls, darting here and there, ever fathom its depths? Windows of
a long-shuttered room have been thrown open – to fresh
air and sunlight, music and laughter. Important
people of the world, sleep on – moving about in your
dreams; jabbing the air with your fingers. The mandali
are giving out holy prasad. Those old bodies remind me
of abandoned houses the winds blow through. O child of
God, your heart resides within His heart; wherever
your willfulness leads, remember, the Beloved goes
with you.
