Get lost, pilgrim, on your way to the Tomb.
Take a head count and find yours gone.
Like a ghost, tread the path between the white stones;
wet the dust with your phantom tears.
Blue and infinite is the sky above the dome;
the white shadow of a moon translucent.
Baba whispers to His lovers, Make yourself scarce –
when the true Light shows its eternal face.
Those roses on my Beloved’s stone?
The heart-shaped fragrance of His perfect fidelity.
His whispers now thrill the heart,
after the proscribed silence due a heedless world.
O child of God, question not the Master’s ways
but offer twofold worship: silence and praise.
(from The Garden of Surrender, 2004)
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