Enjoy the Samadhi’s path, its gentle shadows.
Baba’s here, too – partway up.
‘Why ever leave this Hill?’ Mansari asked.
‘Where to go from here?’
She left only to keep an appointment with God,
flying to His arms, reciting Kabir.
It was monsoon season.
I was drenched to the bone –
and flooding this valley:
a red river of wine.
Out of the Tavern, stumbling drunk,
I heard Your laughter –
though when You served that wine,
Your eyes were grave with compassion.
How did I get here, o Lord, so far from home?
And who is this stranger staring from the bottom of my cup?
O child of God, drunks lead a short, but happy life.
They teeter on the holy edge, before falling into a sea of
fire.
(from The Garden of Surrender, 2004)
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