I wander the narrow path, visit the brambles on either side.
Rein me in, o Lord, though the bit chafes.
The Perfect Rose bloomed in a Poona garden.
By nightfall it was gone, the petals wind-scattered.
You’ll come again in seven hundred years.
Will I recognize You and fly into Your arms?
Embrace me now, o Lord, with Your True Self.
Delight my vision from the inside out.
How can my heart balance something so delicate?
The pans of Your scales brimful of wine.
You suggest we have an ancient connection.
Give more clues: sweet whispers, Your lips to my ear.
O child of God, Avatars come and go, yet He is always here.
And you – you were born before the world was made.
(from The Garden of Surrender, 2004)
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