For “Formless” thou art the “Form”;
“Nigruna” is Thy “Guna”;
The sight of the blind, the ear of the deaf,
the voice of the dumb and the walk of the lame
Thou art each and all. …
Yet, as the full moon hides behind the black clouds
Thou art hiding behind Thy black saree’s hem
the Universes, all gunas and all forms, Mother!
Classic Thief art thou Mother! Incomparable.
The oceans dance in ecstacy seeing the moon rise
in the dark blue sky and try their best
to reach him, though the moon feels not an iota of sympathy.
The magnet minds not and can blissfully be
unaware of the iron filings that could not resist
themselves from being attracted.
Seeing Thee, yet unable to reach Thee, we are all
burning like hot embers Mother, whilst You are
coolly looking at our good and evil, vice and virtue
like a candle in a niche, quite unmindful of our fire and earth.”
Is it fair, Mother?
The milk in the udders of the cow,
The diamond concealed behind a cloth,
The fire beneath the ash,
And the moon behind the clouds
could not be concealed from Knowledge,
though they are concealed from the sight, Mother
We all know that thou art our Mother!
Why curtains still ? ?
If we stand before a mirror the reflection can be seen
The felspar besides the ruby reflects red.
When placed amidst the roses, the
scent embraces the grass flower too
But can the mountain beside the river flow with it Mother?
Same with me too Mother!! A dog in it’s kennel!!
My mind is like
a Kingdom without a King,
a light that knows not what to illumine,
a fragrance that could belong to no flower
and a fire that could burn none save itself.
What can I do Mother?