The old P.C.

The old P.C.
 
You invited me to walk with You
up the hill to the Tomb.
 
I’ve spent the last thirty years
trying to lace up my shoes.
 
It’s difficult when you’re drunk
on the world’s wine
 
and the ground keeps
shifting under your feet.
 
I’ve lost my bearings again
beneath an endless blue sky
 
as the hot winds rattle the wilted neems.
The cool stone images
 
of the Samadhi’s interior beckon me,
but I am heat-weary and sleepy
 
for my next nap and the sunlight
is dazzling beyond the shaded eaves.
 
O child of God, how infinitely patient is the Master,
waiting you out on the veranda of the old P.C.  

(Painting by Mark Hodges)