Sonnet — An Invocation to The Master #83

What marvel this waking me from sleep,
Drawing gently through sub-conscious fields,
Reminding always the inconceivable truth deep
That each hour mine are but Thy embraces!

A spark of wonder seizes my little heart,
A firefly of joy flitting across inner sky,
It ebbs not with close of moment,
It throbs in me this undiminished joy!

What amulet bore my soul, what birthmark
Rare that Thou didst brightly cherish
To extend Thy hand and possessing take
My life and body Thy aim to accomplish.

What inconceivable love is this of Thine
That Thou makest Thyself forever mine!

Poem — An Invocation to The Master #82

A harsh relentless summer hath parched me,
A greedy heat saps the last precious dew,
A stark barren expanse is all I can see,
No shade shelters me from this pitiless view.

A strange soil this harbouring no flower,
No hue bright of heaven-painted wings
To fly a parcel of beauty to eyes near,
All is an even grey of a dull duress.

O Artist, O Craftsman supreme,
Thy palette lacks me a single hue bright,
No lofty music’s note doth strum
To break this monopoly of silence mute.

Thou shunnest my lute, deny me Thy breath,
My harp-strings remain by Thee uncaressed,
Thy world-choir crosses gaily my path
Mocking my state by Thee conditioned.

Make not mine a vain enterprise,
For all of me bears Thy thought’s impress.

Sonnet — An Invocation to The Master #81

Wither this sweep of storms raging
Through life’s fragile fields unending,
Wave upon restless waves descend
Shaking our hearts by times malformed.

Is there not precious hue in each flower,
A radiance issuing from joy’s endeavour?
Why must uncouth blemish upon it fall,
Art Thou not the preserver of all?

Make for these lives shielded room
Safe from the alarm of all harm.
In peace and harmony as prevailing law
Ensure their days unvisited by flaw.

In each flower Thou art too,
By Thy infinity may all be good and true.

Poem — An Invocation to The Master #80

At midnight hour marked by a mechanical limb
At the doorstep of sleep’s retreat I paused,
For strange shapes in the air were outlined,
Forms familiar from times now grown dumb.

I knew these yet couldn’t recollect names
For my memory’s stores have been robbed,
Yet by heart the heavings were remembered,
Ghosts of desire slain making new acquaintance.

I saw the procession pass in mournful silence,
Many a happy face and eyes hope filled,
Passion swollen hearts and adamant mind
Were all resolved to melancholic grievance.

I strained my ears to hear their moving lips,
A somber chorus grew like…

Poem — An Invocation to The Master #79

What vacillation hath possessed Thee,
Alternating my heart to unfeeling stone
Or ripening it to a fruit in season,
Always leaving me adrift on life’s sea.

Art Thou all storms and hurricanes unending,
Visits Thee no calm zephyr or soothing clime?
Always a grating and jarring rhyme
Rattles my mind and bone and nerve unblending.

What school of Gods Thee hath coached,
Or seated beside a Titan learnt discordant notes?
Oh who brings wild furies and reckless lightnings
To play with a soul in a fragile body embodied?

Hear me, O sole beloved Infinity,
Cast another earth and fashion another soul,

Poem — An Invocation to The Master #78

Ah, Thou art now married to new custom
Of heaven, Thy splendoured home bright,
Old courtesies of earth are now too dim
To venture Thy halls before Thy sight.

Thy portal doors guarded by armed might,
Heaven sentinels with severe light-brows,
Shaming my heart and feet to hesitate
From venturing in periphery of Thy gaze.

O Emperor, O sun-crowned Supreme,
My peasant heart brings laboured produce,
A fistful of ardour, a lone stuttering dream
And fine balm extracted from salted tears.

In Thy lordship never a mar must stray,
Hence by Thy doorstep I shall be forever,
In wordless silence from here I shall pray
Lest Thy repose be tainted by my quiver.

Visit me in Thy sojourns if Thou canst,
For how long can Thy heaven deny my dust.

Sonnet — An Invocation to The Master #77

Keep O serpent thy glistening treasures
Of diamonds and rubies, opal and pearl,
Guarding jealously the cherished measures
To perpetuate endlessly thy abject rule.

Thy djinns placing no limit to thy gluttony
Entrench thy hunger’s web everywhere,
In commerce and science is thy formulary
Mining many spoils from human despair.

But mine is a perennial fount within,
A stream of descending light divine,
It heeds not my mood or disposition,
Suffuses my being ever with benediction.

Of what worth are all thy treasures to me,
For I sup the light-streams from His eternity!

Poem — An Invocation to The Master #76

A single birth is oft celebrated in swirls of sun,
The magic motion conducting the drift of time,
The miracle of soul in body and a life begun,
Marking a phase of the spirit’s eternal rhyme.

A twin birth is rare, by an earth-womb the body,
And a difficult high birth of soul heaven issued,
Them the twice-born world declares emphatically,
Who by earth rain and heaven light stand nourished.

But Thou, oh how many births hath Thou crammed
For me in the meagre length of five score years,
An hour a year, a year a life, a life in a second!

Poem — An Invocation to The Master #75

I hear thee O soul, though wordless thy silence,
Like a precious little flower caught in ambush
By unsheathed thorns of body and senses,
Every stir stroking on thee a scarring brush.

Nay, not mine the hand that cast me here,
Of all fertile soils of earth this hostile patch.
Only a poignant moist tear for our nurture,
A company of thorns our sole princely catch.

In an unloved corner of a wide azure we dwell,
Thy marvel but a curiosity none can see.
Yet I mark thy laments orbiting in a cycle,
A lone teary pilgrim perambulating in body.

Sonnet — An Invocation to The Master #74

What order can I impose on my ardour,
What course suggest to heart unbarred?
What symmetry to the wild dance of fire,
Who resist when Thou hath called?

In masked dream-scenes hides Thy face,
My mind recalls Thee at knock of dawn,
My waking thought bears Thy trespass,
Am one feeble touch away from swoon!

Why doth Thou pursue my modest frame,
All here is meagre and an undeep shallow,
No breadths dwell here or heights of fame,
All here is withered root, a wrinkled hollow.

Yet what miracle is betwixt Thee and I,
Of my brown clod aching for Thy golden sky!

Mahesh CR

Hi, I am Mahesh CR, Founder @tataatsu. I walk the borderlands between technology & spirituality. Follow @kalisbrood for Spirituality & Hinduism related topics

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