Like the Gulmohar at Your Feet

My Guru, My Lord, My Father,

I am plagued with a million doubts

Of mundane monotony

That grips me into nothingness.

The ramblings of my mind

Cling on like the greed for trinkets
That appear precious to possess with mad desire

See I the unworthiness of it all, and yet unable to let go of the love for worthless objects of attachment. 

I cling on to memories of a past,

Undone to undone even more

The futility of repetitive thoughts don't stare at me anymore

For if my mind were to mock at my ramblings I would stop.

I am gripped with sorrows of imagined pain

In love with my grief - for that has been my companion I cling on to...

We share a fuel that feeds each to each.

This self-love does not see beyond I-Me-Myself.

Then on a weary path of search, alone

I stumble upon a Sage's Hermit

Where the Gulmohar tree, pregnant with deep red blooms

Falls gently on the path the Holy One walks.
 

I stand and look in utter wonderment

Waiting eternal for the Holy One to step on the Flames of Forest

Each petal worthy of its life, comes to its pristine end

Offering itself at the feet of the Divine.

I can’t be that Flower

And Yet I yearn to be that one petal

Yearning to settle on the red carpet, unnoticed and obscure

To feel the genteel Feet of the Mystic walk in half-a-step.

That feathered step of His

Liberating me from the endless cycle of life and death

As yet another flower yearns to fall on the path

Hoping the Sage will walk Half-a-step, in all knowing of her unsung prayer.