II
Longing’s
lurchings have gashed a mighty rift
in soul’s torn
surface, normally so smooth;
emerging from
oblivion’s grey ooze,
wreck upon wreck,
old memories now drift;
and madness, on whose
wave-crests’ flexed awryness
in flickering
dance wild fantasies abound,
its sledge seems
to knock crumbling slabs of ground
loose from a
continent of quaking I-ness.
Rising to ecstasy
from deep despair
around the fearful
one held captive there
insistent rings of
waves constrict at will...
free
Self-Awareness though of Brahman’s Being,
that witnesses its
worldly fears unfleeing,
drifts in
triumphant balance, calmly still.
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