That sound sonorous, heard I ere, somewhere,
coming from deep ethereal caverns.
It’s like a numinous boom from vacuous sphere
and like the whiffs of wind through dancing ferns.
Sometimes I heard it low and verily near,
as resonance around and as a pat
on heart. So oft it’s loud, but vaguely clear,
arcane and thrilling like an alien’s chat.
At last I found it’s shape in pensive snooze…
a little word of just one lone letter
in Sanskrit pious with occult trills of muse.
In silent stir I read that hum better.
That all pervading clang is now at home…
in soul my, as an ever throbing OM!
I’m on my way to the mountain cap.
I make my journey sweet and high.
It’s up to you O’ boy, to wrap
your nap and tread the path my nigh.
Don’t walk away, don’t look around.
The path is flanked by lures umpteen
and cross winds shake your steps on ground.
Beware and keep your mind serene.
Ye watch the trodden grass on path
and see the bushwhacked field at fore.
Our peers had spread for us this sacred swarth
my boy. Quail not, ye walk to make the lore.
No limbs, no ken, your way can wend.
You need just faith to reach the end.
My hands came down heavily again;
again and again pounding
the lone grain in the mortar.
I stopped awhile with sinking spirits.
A farrago of scents; sweet, sour,
pungent and foul engulfed me.
I looked at the grain…
The husk is almost intact…
just few splits here and there!
and the seed is still strong.
When did I start this
and when can I complete?
I started again…
the thumping sounds of my heart
joined the pounding thuds.
The scents waned a little…
I mumbled to myself:
“I must continue…
till the scents vanish completely
the grain must never sprout!”
There’re layers many parallel
in friction oft, in noisy moot
ruffling my moods. I wish they gel
into a solo tune on lute!
But wonder how to make them one,
deluge the barren inner leas
and melt the veils on third vision?
Must wake up I, my mystic lees!
But where’re those magic lees; in sea
of tranquility, I suppose!
But where I find that hush hush glee…
may be at highs, to heavens close!
Nay, nay, I got the sacred cues
between the layers as sweet muse.
I crave for epic tales, it’s true. But lo
the sweet saga of Ram my favourite read,
that leads through glittering path of sacred glow!
Isn’t bland all else for one who tasted mead?!
For one who lives in love; his life a row
through sacred streams in God’s canoe. To him
no joy a joy; as much no woe a woe!
A feel beyond; he sips at heaven’s rim!
I close follow the passersby, in search
of Gurus my. To know those knowing-all,
ignore I plain sole-prints, awhile that lurched,
but look for strong soul-prints of walking tall.
A trail along the saintly spoor, this quest.
A longest walk I know, before I rest!