Clouds of glory
Baba means father but also babe.
Your sweat-soaked sadra
before being washed was passed around,
the women mandali burying their noses in it
to get a whiff of Your purity.
Someone new to Baba once
picked up the same scent at Meher Abode
on Your bedspread under her bowed head.
Vernix caseosa and roses, she said.
Vernix caseosa and roses.
A dewy new pale pink rose
born into this dusty old world
has put me again onto Your scent,
a newborn granddaughter
trailing perhaps clouds of glory
as You did Your whole long life, every step –
the fragrance of an ancient, inviolable purity,
the wafting, wondrous clouds of an unearthly glory.
O child of God, an old soul in a new body!
By dying and rebirth become yourself a child again.