Mahesh CR

Sonnet — An Invocation To The Master #364

I mused for Thee an evensong to tame
The harsh austerity of the severe noon,
Draped in verses of a vermillion rhyme
And swaying stately along a setting sun.

A stage I fashion upon the horizon line,
The wonder border cleaving the hemisphere,
A ripened day and a night new-born
Are voices assembled on the stage there.

On vast of the skies the far-flung choir
For a million-voiced chorus of harmonies,
The gods of harp and lute there gather
To accompany the evensong with melodies.

At a beginning moment my evensong for Thee sounds
And a worshipful mood now seizes all the universe.

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Sonnet — An Invocation To The Master #363

Far recedes the thousand-voiced world,
Faint grows the murmur of many cares,
On some hidden perch I seem seated
Watching this retreating wave of forms.

Oh who is it breathing it all in,
The joys and cares back to the source
Leaving me empty and pristine
Like a new-born sleeping simply is?

Like a weather-worn fresco on time’s wall
Some traces of an old outline yet remain,
To what end all moves who can tell,
Save Thee by whom all this is done.

O Thou who embarked me on the human cycle,
Make home by Thy feet for my wearied soul.

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Sonnet — An Invocation To The Master #362

What is man but a knot of forces
Woven by Nature upon loom of life,
In all his works are found the themes
Of her patterns with glory rife.

From the cell she builds this scaffold,
A breathing thinking mutable edifice;
And on a peak of thought perched
She leaps into seas of infinite spaces.

Man is her experiment with mortality;
The sage, the damned and the vagrant
Are but the motifs of her mood’s tapestry,
And all is and becomes by her consent.

Thus I am, thus far has she ferried me,
And now have stature to be Thy responsibility.

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Sonnet — An Invocation To The Master #361

Dull is the air that pervades my scene,
Not even despair colours the moods,
No definite aim claims its due portion,
This realm seems a field of naughts.

The zone vulgar of subconscient dross
Seems crossed leading to this dim lair
Where day is not and all is the night’s
And each becoming a damning labour.

Oh who shall know this grey womb
Where to breathe is a toil, to be a woe,
My soul is caged in body’s living tomb,
A monument of light none shall know.

O Sun-Oracle, O Prophesier of Time,
Divine for our lives one redeeming aim.

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Sonnet — An Invocation To The Master #360

My reed is hollowed, worn out by the passing hours,
The ego’s banner of agency stands tattered,
Who or what in me doth the lingering deeds cause
Is not evident yet or perhaps to be hid condemned.

Like a leaf severed from the world tree I drift
Through this whirl of time and space helpless,
My end be soil prone or heaven august I know not,
Yet I venture these roads of unknown purpose.

What titan or demon has framed my quandary
Like the first cell of life with mind burgeoning,
To feel all the coruscation of thought covertly
And yet be mute the apparatus of sense lacking.

O Thou, Conductor of the heavens and earth below,
Make us not an anomaly that is unravelling slow.

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Sonnet — An Invocation To The Master #359

Of what aid is strenuous virtue or bleeding vice
When at Thy whim like waves they rise and fall,
What is deadening sloth or flurry of works
When all is manifested at Thy beck and call?!

Of what use a paltry mind at this enormity
That looms upon our pittance like a Titan
Who marches upon the hours stridently
And casts our lives in a whirlwind’s den?

To the plank of soul we fervently cling
Through the bellowing events that roar
And crash upon the borders of our being,
Oh who but Thee can lead us ashore?

The reins are all Thine, Thine all the forces,
It it not the hour to receive Thy graces?

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Sonnet — An Invocation To The Master #358

The day perishes in the arms of dusk,
The valiant hours bleed on the azure
Crying to the moments that yet baulk,
‘Linger, linger till the immortal hour!’

The soil weeps for the fallen hours,
Each poignant rose its hued tear
Falling from earth to far heavens,
Crying, ‘Oh thou, brief-lived yet dear!’

The heart regards each hour’s embrace
And its pining heartbeats of seconds,
A cry grows by the many goodbyes,
‘Oh thou shalt yet live in all that lives!’

To every fallen hour is this in memoriam,
To each hour-body bridging to Thy rainbow dream.

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Sonnet — An Invocation To The Master #357

Oh what is it that appears to the gaze now
From these flurry of forms a new outline,
Like from a worn-out tome appears slow
Hidden letterings of symbols that shine.

A breath of some revealing thought arrives,
A wave of shivers is upon the veil of form,
A glimpse is caught of undying moods
Like an empty shore’s lone defiant bloom.

The piled up hours turn a shrine fashioned
With an altar high and a daemon unseen,
With deep humility is the Presence worshipped
By a silent song and a wordless hymn.

O Beauty beyond our earthly mar,
Come unto us from Thy heavens afar!

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Poem — An Invocation To The Master #356

From the day’s hours I do gather
Meaning like a bee does honey,
For this measly drop I do labour
Hour upon hour relentlessly.

Doth my soul distil my deeds
And bring Thee a residue fine,
My acts be unto the cosmos
A minuscule motif of Thy plan?

I know not if am not or even if I am,
For all is only as a figment of Thy dream.

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Sonnet — An Invocation To The Master #355

My soul is as a songbird caged
In the confines of these framed events,
In a bodily prison is it entrapped
And sings of its wingéd dreams.

In a twilight corner is propped the stage
Of its poor part with lines all dull,
A blind-deaf audience it must engage,
Repeat the charade of a lifeless spectacle.

Yet my song through bars of sense
Must wing and find Thy feet’s altar,
I offer Thee this broken melody’s notes
Like wrinkled hands offer a haggard flower.

To Thee I have offered my seasons of song,
Spare for my soul one full cycle of spring.

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Mahesh CR

Mahesh CR

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