My soul, a creature of the wild has found her heaven in your eyes.
They are the comfort of the morningtide, they are empire of the stars.
My poetry has relinquished itself in its deepness.
Let me but float in its lone immenseness.
Let me but pierce its clouds and fly in its luster.

Why did the bud not blossom? Why did it fade and die?
I cumbered it and pressed it to my heart with tremulous and anxious love, that is why it faded and died.

                      

In his anguish, man cries, "If there was God, there wouldn't have prevailed such utter lawlessnes!" Indeed the Lord of this Universe has stood aside from our self. He has not shadowed our self with His throne. He has left us free. He seeks His manifestation in the will of man. As far as nature is related, man has to acknowledge the rule of God but in his self, he is free to disown Him. There our Lord must gain His admittance. There He comes not as a King but as a caller, thus, He has to wait until He is invited. God does not command our self, there He comes to seek our love. Indeed He stands away from us, where His watchful forbearance knows no bondage, and where He never tries to coerce the gate open if it's closed against Him. Our soul has to reach its ultimate destiny, not through the Lord's compelling power, but through love.

|| Namah Shambavaya ||*
Our obeisance to Him from whom come the joys of our existence.

||Namah Shankarayacha||*
Our obeisance to Him from whom comes the good of our spirit.

||Namah Shivayacha Shiv Taraya Cha||*
Our Obeisance to Him who is the innate good in all, in whom we are conjoined in all entirety, in love and harmony, in righteousness and peace.

*Lines from the Hindu Scripture, Shri Rudram.

They are pitiless in their avarice and their malice, their utterance is like concealed knives coveting blood. They complain and confront, they doubt and despair, their altercations know no bound.
Let them behold your innocent face, little one, and learn the purpose of all things; let them love you and hence learn to love each other. Go and stand in the midst of their disapproving hearts, little angel and let your tender glance be the forgiving grace they need.

God grieved and said, "Where and why does my devotee amble to find me, by abandoning me?"

 https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=2311951853138&set=a.1067879352103.9762.1679653845&type=1&theater

An amused smile flashes across your eyes when I come to you to say that I am going. I have rendered this role so often that you are convinced that I will return before long. To be honest, I have the same qualm.
The season of spring comes again year after year; the full moon departs and comes forth again., the flowers blossom and bloom time after time, and it is probable that I go only to come back to you again.
But keep the delusion for a while; do not dismiss it in a flurry.
When I say, I am going away and leaving you, acknowledge it as a fact, and for one moment let tears befog the rim of your eyes.
Then when I come back, smile as archly as you like.

Let us end this final refrain and let us depart.
Let us consign to oblivion this sweet hour when this sweet hour is no more.
Who do I strive to constrain in my arms?
Love can never be bound.
Dream can never be caged.
My yearning hands clasp and press desolation to my heart and it lacerates my bosom.

Hark little bird, do not fold your wings yet. Although the nighttripping hour has drawn near and beckoned all songs to cease;
Although your playmates are reposing and you are weary;
Although despair broods in the shadows and the sky is wearing a shroud;
Hark little bird do not fold your wings yet.

That which lies ahead is not the dismal foliage of the wildwood, that is the sea surging like a black Cimmerian serpent.
That is not the caper of blossoming daisies, that is the gleaming spray of the foam.
Where is your nest and where is the lush sunlit shore?
Hark little bird do not fold your wings yet.

The comfortless dark stretches ahead and the morning slumbers behind the aphotic summit.
The lame crescent wades through the abysmal dark and the stars are holding their breath counting the hours.
Hark little bird do not close your wings yet.

There is no dream and no dismay for you.
There is no utterance, no murmur, no cry.
There is no haven , no sanctuary for rest.
There is only your twain wings and the trackless sky.
So Hark little bird do not close your wings.

In a misty dream I went to look for the love which was mine in a past life. His dwelling stood in the middle of a busy street. In the evening breeze his pet sat drowsing and the birds were quietly settled.
He set his lamp down by the door and stood before me.
He raised his eyes to my face and silently enquired, "How are you, my beloved?"
I tried to reply, but our utterance had been mislaid and obliterated.

I tried to recall, yet our names I could not bring to memory.
Grief shone in his eyes. He held out his hand to me. I took it and stood speechless.
Our lamp had wavered in the evening breeze and died.

To the birds you gave melody, the birds gave you a chorus in return. You gave me only words, yet bid me to do much more, and I write a hymn.
You made the air agile and it is nimble in your service. You saddled my hands that I myself should relieve the burden, and meliorate myself for your servitude.
You bought into being the Earth, replenishing its darkness with refulgent fragments.
There you ceased; left me with naught in the dust to erect your Arcadia.
To all things you cede, from me you demand.
The reaping of my life mellows in the sun and rain until I harvest more than you planted, brightening your heart, O Lord of the golden granary.

When the lassitude of the road is over me, and the aridity of the sweltry day; when the eidolic hours of nightfall casts its gloom over my life, then I sigh not for your voice only, my friend, but for your touch.
There is a distress in my soul for the burden of  its wealth not given to you.
Put out your hand through the darkness, let me grasp it and fill it and keep it; let me sense its fold along the increasing expanse of my lonesomeness.

Lord grace my child with gentle compassion....
Lead my child with tender care
Reveal unto her the ways of wisdom.
Fill her heart with adulation.

Its my hearts desire to take up a quiet corner in the centre of my little ones world.
I know that the wild blue yonder concedes to him and the stars parlance with him to amuse him.
Celestial beings come creeping to his window with their tales.
I wish I could walk down the path that crosses my little ones mind,
and out beyond all confines;
Where bearers run errands without purpose between realms of monarchs with no past.
Where Intellect flies kites and Truth sets Reality free from its bind.

Beloved, you say that you are just a fleeting spark of incandescent flame.
I do not care.....since you light my unlit being
With the eternal effulgence of sunshine.
And though you are only a mortal, like all men.
Only a helpless being
That Death may claim and fate destroy ~
I care not.....since you bring to me
The very sight of My Lord's abode.

I shall call on your name, while I sit lonely on my own, under the shade of my own quite thoughts.
I will call wordlessly, I will call without propose, like a babe that calls on her mother, content that she can utter "Ma".

I love you, dearest. Don't condone me for my love.
Like an astray bird, I am entrapped.
When my heart was perturbed, it mislaid its veil and was exposed. Cloak it with empathy, dearest, and don't condone it for my love.

If you cannot love me, dearest, don't condone me my pain.
Do not look disdainfully at me from far.
I will withdraw and settle in my darkened corner.
With these twain hands I will cloak my exposed disgrace.
Turn your face from me, dearest, but don't condone me my pain.

If you love me, dearest, don't condone me my gaiety.
When my heart is carried away in the flow of delight, do not smile at my precarious wantonness.
When I sit on my royal seat and dominate you with my unreasonableness of love,
when like a goddess I bestow you my grace, bear with my ego, dearest, and don't condone me my elation.

O Krishna, O My Lord, I do not beseech you to harbor me from peril, but let me be gallant in facing them.
O Govinda, I do not ask Thee to alleviate my pain but for the fortitude to conquer it.
O Hari, let me not look for associates in life's battleground but to my own tenacity.
O Lord of Dwarka, let me not cave in to fear but give me the forbearance to win my freedom.
Grant me , O Infallible one, that I may not be a weakling, feeling your grace in my attainments alone, but let me find the clasp of your hand in my failing too.

For pronouncing the Vedas,
For bearing the Universe,
For lifting the earth,
For killing the demon,
For beguiling Bali,
For destroying the Kshtriyas,
For vanquishing Ravana,
For brandishing the plow,
For radiating grace,
For destroying the savages,
Praise to you O Hari,
In your ten incarnate forms!

You came down from your monarchial abode and stood at the door of my hut. I was humming on my own in a corner, and the tune caught your attention. You came below and stood at the door of my hut.
Connoisseurs are many in your music hall, and hymns are sung there night and day. But the plain lay of this novitiate touched your ardor. One sorrowful tune coalesced with the grand melody of the great, and with a blossom  to honor me, you came below and stood at the door of my hut.

Hands hold hands and eyes behold eyes : hence begins the legend of our hearts.
It is the silvery night of April ; the fragrance of henna is in the air ; your lute lies on the dust neglected and my song is unfinished. This tenderness between you and me is as lucid as a hymn.

My ivory veil makes your eyes lush.
The song that I sing for you enlivens your heart like praise.
It is a play of hiding, yielding and concealing again; some smiles and some coyness, and some deliciously futile struggles.
This tenderness between you and me is as lucid as a hymn.

No mystery beyond this moment; no aims for the impossible; no darkness behind the enchantment; no fumbling in the pitch of black.
This tenderness between you and me is as lucid as a hymn.

We do not run out of all confab into the wordless; we do not raise our hands to pray for impossible hopes.
It is enough that we cede and we gain.
We have not crushed this ecstasy to the absolute to exact from it a harvest of torment.
This tenderness between you and me is as lucid as a hymn.

I will encounter one day the Soul within me, the gladness, the bliss, that is ensconced in my being, though the days befuddle my trail with their gathering dust.
I've had a glimpse of it, and its capricious breath I have felt, making my contemplation flowery for a while.
I will meet one day the Blessedness without me that abides behind the cover of resplendent light~and will stand in the cascading loneness where all existence is seen by God.

Your searching eyes are troubled. They entreat to know my essence as the orb of the night seeks to discern the sea. I have unveiled my life afore your sight , with nothing withheld or unrevealed. That is why you know me not.
If it were only a precious stone I could split it into pieces and string them together to put on your neck.
If it were only a blossom, I could sever it from its stem and give it to you.
But it is a heart, beloved.  Where are its strands and its low base?
You know not the bounds of this realm, yet you rule it.
If it were only a trice of delight, it would blossom in a simple tender smile, and you could see and fathom it in a moment.
If it were only a hurt, it would dissolve in lucid tears, reflecting its mystery without a word.
But it is love , beloved.
Its solace and its aches are boundless and endless its yearnings and worth.
It is as near to you as your own soul but you can never wholly comprehend it.

Lord, the blossoms on the bush, retreat to dust.
So do the one's lying on your Lotus Feet.
Even a dewdrop waits, detached from verdure, seeking Thee.

"He who dwells in the Sun, whom the Sun does not know, whose body the Sun is, and by whose power the Sun shines. He is the Supreme Self, the In dweller, the Immortal Essence."                                                                                         ~ Shri Swami Shivananda