Member Poem

To the Formlessly Handsome, Dearest of all, Dearest to many, Concealed, Famed, Eternal, Originless, Fathomless, Timeless Being,
Fearless, Invincible, Unconditionally loving, Creator, Savior, Protector, Preserver, Destroyer, All knowing, Wisest, Stage-master, Thee,

To You , I this letter sign
Tied to an arrow chaos sphered
To be shot in all directions, counted or uncounted,
Poised on my heartstrings.

No more can I wait now;
In this cage of Myself
My soul does tense.

For I am not satiated
By your momentary savours,
The warm touch that I feel...
Those glimpses are not enough.
The short contact that We make
When in your praising I lose account
Of everything, of these Spheres fettered in the cuffs of Maya
In full daylight unconsciously dancing
(Comedy for an unwanted audience).
Mad do they call me
Mad, so, I am in Thy love.

The divine jubilation, that irresistible temptation
At whose hands I can give away
Sensuality, sense and supper.
Your name is my breath;
Take away air.

Our consort I direly crave
This lost life's only will,
Expenses I don't care,
O Ferrier, Your dearth and I will sink.

Your handsomeness have I witnessed
In the colourful cheery meadow,
The gleeful green wood, the clinquant countless azure,
Or in the froth foaming surf.

Your architecture I do complement
In the skyscrapers of Everest,
The caves with confounding labyrinths, Mushroom rocks in penance,
Or the blankets of crusts layered in the womb of this Earth.

You are an artist ace at brush
A still mountain whose strokes form,
Or the paintings of dawn and dusk,
Or the skyscaping of a parheli-on.

What a craftsman art Thee
Who designed this macrocosm diverse and minutely
Who sculpted calcium bones, Etching fortunes on palms
And expressioned faces each new from other.

Thou, Bearer of the Invincible Bow,
Carrier of Sword that saves our honour
Annihilator of slanderers, with Thee, I am in love,
Maker of Picasso, Aryabhatta, Mozart and Shakespeare.

When this world, I perceived as your creation
The rich and poor, sound in unison;
My heart beats the drums of pride
To speculate on the art of my Lord.

Then my soul divests resistance,
Hitting hard against this shell.
This letter pleads Thee
O Master of great characters and qualities
Forgive this self, shammed undercover,
Accept it with all knaves of mind
For the unconditional love I have.
Yet somehow these prying eyes
Eluded by pessimism,
Spits my edacious tongue
The calumny of Your creations.

Most merciful, show benevolence
As the same tongue voices my bowels,
Whence ballads of Thy love pour forth.
For this love is unconditional -
Unlike the fearing devotees,
As fright falters when fluoroscences fervour,
Nor the lax beggars,
Who flatter ownselves in happy chimes,
But then in Your name, even their faces sweat
When good's unfound but only byes are left.
Nor those who define You
As the sole enemy of their fortunes,
Who infest sour yet dream on victory in a song contest.

Now this heart can wait no more,
The collyrium of Thy name is all I need
To see through the Fog of Luxuries
Whose mist veils Your presence
Even when, Beside me, You are always there.

I yearn for Your arms to carry me
Into that Undescribable joy
Which now only I get to peep-
When into the Sun shall fade this beam.

With enamoured devotion
The Soul