Friday 3 July 2009


The fullness of his silence that reigns supreme,
Over loves and hatreds, beds of reeds that bind
The mire and marsh of gross meandering mind,
Immutably voids the wayward waking dream
Of teeming life, such solid stuff it seems!
How to discern when stupidly groping blind
The folly befalling our benighted kind?
In a pool of deep silence we glimpse a gleam.

The One at peace within, without a doubt,
Is known to dwell in silence that's divine,
Where sounds no clash of cymbals 'I' or 'mine'.
The silent eye centred in the storm looks out
From stillness, sacred gaze; the world's a sign,
A play of light on water, dancing round about.

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