The book of the heart
You thumb through my heart on occasion,
never bothering to read it, not from disinterest
but because You know so well the story,
written there even before its pages
had formed into flesh and blood –
ruffling my emotions, upending my complacency,
stirring more vigorously my longing.
One day You promise to let me read it –
my own heart-book – when it’s wide open enough
to reveal (by Your promise) the mystery of life.
O child of God, Meher came to retrieve (for your study)
that ancient, hidden book of the heart.
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