Hold to My damaan, Meher said;
for those times when there’s left
not a shred of anything else within reach;
a damaan of straw, one last hope to grasp
where He dare not refuse;
when you need to
unburden your chest of the weighty
function and duty of self;
when you can’t possibly weave your way
alone any farther through streets without love;
a damaan with which to dry tears,
clean slates, bind wounds;
to yield a small sheer rectangle –
the fluttering white flag of surrender.
O child of God, hold to His damaan
until you are ready to unhand everything.
