As the world turns

As the world turns                                                                                              
 
Keenly I’ve felt the terrible distance
between what I say and what I almost know,
 
my inability to turn the world as I perceive it into words,
praying my inarticulacy will soon leave off
 
in a silence deep as the ocean, deep as space,
stilled like my Lord’s tongue in His holy handsome head. 
 
As the world turns and souls writhe, estranged
from God, His silence is not lost nor enervated,
 
but coming to the fore, reinforced, reiterated,
as I take my time to grieve only briefly for us all –
 
our pain and ignorance, bewilderment and fear,
our wrong-headed certitudes, deep red sanskaras
 
(apparently), our fierce laboring to break free
and all the dues we have yet to pay
 
for ourselves, our souls, for God’s timeless emergence
(we are told) from His quiescence and oblivion.
 
O child of God, inscribe in your heart
Meher’s promise – nothing is real but God.