The poet who tries to portray


The poet who tries to portray Your persona through praise

Is like a child who tries, to capture as he plays

The full moon in a lakeís rippled reflection

For thou art beyond absolute splendid perfection

The only truth is Your divine reality

In whose waters you invite us to cleanse our identity


We are lost in myriad mirages of many colours

We are blind and lose ourselves in lifeís marvels

In a despairing drive to fill the chalice that lies

Empty within, we roam the world but hear not the cries

That come from our soul, which longs like a stream to return

From whence it once came, the mighty ocean, we learn

But slowly because of the delusions of the mind

And often have not the courage to see we are blind


Thou art beyond Mother, splendid perfection.

And surrounded by a mist of illusion

But thou hast to your aspiring pilgrims imparted

The secret to navigate thru the mist uncharted

Even by the gods, You have shown your pilgrims

For ages lost, the temple of their dreams

Your magic illuminates the blackest stone

And it then begins to shine with a light of its own

Your compassion has given us sight and your patience

Has allowed us to see past our ignorance

Within our souls, Your reality

Becomes our true identity

And that space where god and his child meet

to become one, is the temple where I worship my motherís feet.

The Aspiring Scribe




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