“When your heart’s bound to the carved out figures,
It’s bound to get laden with the weight;
A weight that can be moved with a finger
But is immovable as you negate
The conspicuous Truth filled with vigour...
And lucid as your mind and mine conflate.
Deny not the words of the Harbinger
Who spake of One with the strength to create,
A world, a universe as a singer
Of the ambrosial greatness of the Great.”

“As Your beatific fingers strum the strings,
They set tunes for the songs which my heart sings.
What a choir it would be to listen to,
Of my heart a drum, of Your eyes a flute;
Your presence, a fair sonata that rings...
Through my soul, making it sprout the wings;
To carry it through angelic domains
To the place where Your grace, blissfully, rains;
Where each soul’s transcending fable begins
To unravel the mystical meanings
Of esoteric colours which unfold;
Radiant upon a canvas of gold.
Such ecstasy a sip of Your wine brings,
To a beggar worthier than the kings.”
{~Umr~}
23.01.2014