THE FLOOD OF RAMANA'S GRACE 8

Oh Great Sri Ramana, Lord of many Souls,
As one thinks nacre looks like silver in a shell,
Or water mixed with flour, looks like milk as well,
A glass bead bauble appears as a crystal bowl,
A mirage we think is just a watering hole;
So the fool, destined for yet another hell,
Worships other than what is Thee; the spell
Of Maya that deceives. Oh Lord of the Whole!
The rope we perceive is a venomous snake,
And the stone dog we imagine to be real.
We mistake a man for a scarecrow’s stake,
And what we touch seems solid when we feel.
Mind's under constant illusion, Lord Aruna,
Save us from this dire delusion, Great Ramana!

FLOOD OF RAMANA BLISS 4

Let me rest at your feet, Guru Supreme,
Soft as the beautiful blue lotus flower.
Let my speech, with all its might and power,
Be prayer to awaken from life’s sad dream,
And constantly illuminate my inner scene.
Then uttering your praise, I’ll never cower
With fear, or lose faith, by which Thou endower
My soul with light from Thine effulgent gleam.
Let my palms be clasped, in praise of Thee,
My hearing tuned to the words of Thy story,
My mind in Self Enquiry and ever free,
My eyes resting on Thy formless glory.
So through which other senses, will I learn
To be worthy, and Thy boundless grace to earn?

RAMANA'S GRACE 3

Whether it be a pot or heavy lump of clay,
Or the microcosmic atom in my breath,
Whether it be smoke, fire or mountain way,
Will any serve as a cure for painful death?
I‘m only blocking love by logic chopping,
I must bow to praise great Bhagavan's feet,
But monkey mind keeps dropping off and hopping,
Instead of abiding in His bliss replete.
The heavy weight of reason and causation,
Will never take me to Self Realisation,
Instead they lead to endless frustration,
A kind of morbid mental masturbation.
I must take refuge in Ramana's grace,
Inside my heart; True Saviour of the race!

CLEAVE WITHIN THE HEART

Let's cleave to the Sat-Guru within our heart,
With all soul's love, praise, worship, main and might.
You're there ready and waiting for us. You impart
Knowledge, take us to bathe in Your ocean of Light,
And win blessed freedom from demon egotistic elf.
Let us forever hold You always in our sight,
Lead us on to that Great Realisation of the Self,
Remove dark clouds that hide our Light like night!

Even our bodily pains remind us of Your grace,
Our love remains for your teaching and Your Name,
Help us to see once again Your real original face,
And realise the one true Self that's just the same!
Oh Sat-Guru lead us from the darkness into light,
Make us whole, in Your all embracing loving sight.

ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE

Doyen of English Poets, past master of prosody,
Who understood the meaning of soul in sense and sense in soul,
Whose magnificent oeuvre of drama, prose and poesy,
Knew every aspect of passionate life as a whole.

Modern poetry should have followed his fineness of line,
Instead 'twas waylaid by facile free verse that often strayed,
But once again he shall regain immortal fame in time,
Musical Swinburne, poet of fair meter and of rhyme.

BLESSED NEW DAY

"Can anything He does be other than happiness for you"? Sadhu Om

-oOo-

Greeted by fiery splendour of the golden dawn,
A bright new day begins, each fine auspicious morn.

We welcome all that happens, both inside and out,
For all's His Grace without a hint of doubt.

What ever God sends us, is always for the best,
As children on His path we're very, very blest.

All are predestined to perform His mighty will,
Whether one likes it or not for good or for ill.

He knows what's most needed to heal each soul,
To wake and shake us up, and so make us whole.

With Faith, we hand him all our worldly cares,
Such trust's a quantum leap for the one who dares.

We free the mind from foolish thoughts that run to fear,
And save errant soul from drowning in sadness drear.

Vain ego says 'I'm the doer, the one who knows',
But the Lord makes us see by shocks and blows,

All is for our good, to make us search within,
And end all sad sinful woes, and freedom win!

AUBURN AUTUMN

An awesome auburn dawn stripes billowing clouds,
Pebbling, piebalding them in piecemeal array,
Like grace removes our puzzled mind's grey shrouds,
We're set to welcome yet one more auspicious day.

Are we like the Egyptian scarab beetle's state,
Shovelling our own dung before us 'til wings sprout,
And we learn to speed away to freedom, and there wait
A transformed life, in purer peaceful calm no doubt?

Autumn comes and auburn leaves fall from weeping trees,
According to Thy predestined heavenly will;
Their radiant tones remind us that we please
Thee most, when we engage enquiry, up to our fill.

Fiery red and gold make autumn's burnished tones,
Our scarab shell falls dead, our soul now flies back home!

BEWARE!

.The egotistic mind boasts peacock's pride,
Strutting and cavorting with arrogant stride,
It shows off its plumes for all to see,
This marvelous person that he calls me.

All such vanity leads to insanity
Egotism is first step to inanity,
If we wish instead to be truly wise,
Then consult Sages and their works surmise.

This is the path of disaster dear friends,
For peacockism soon leads to fatal ends.
Be self effacing and Realise the Self,
Rather than prey to the play of demon elf.

BIRTHDAY REFLECTION

The golden Sun shines in a Sapphire sky,
Proclaiming that greatest question 'who am I?'

To day's my calendar birthday, so they say,
But perhaps it's 'death day' in another way?

To be reborn is not the greatest worth,
The value of a so called human birth,

Is to awaken from the sleep of dreams,
Realise the Self! For that's how it seems,

To this soul reborn many years ago.
More than that I really do not know.

MORNING STARDUST

A beryl blue cup of Morning Glory bloom,
Sips freshly sunkissed dew, beckoning the morn;
Rosey red cheeked blushing hue of aureate dawn,
Awakens dozey souls, dissolving doomlike gloom.
Today is close woven on times ever shuttling loom;
A trudge in fields of blood red poppies, midst golden corn,
Wakens poet, from hypnotic sleep to new life, reborn.
He dwells in Self, contented, in his cloistered room,
Meditating on profound Indian Sage wisdom; so
Giving thanks to God for blessed bounteous gifts,
Bringing Him closer and closer, now to know
Intense awareness: soul's misty veil soon lifts.
The brilliance of sunlight is God's highest wonder,
Shattering soul's frosty window panes asunder.

THE BURNING BUSH

Sage Moses, desert wandering, spied a fearsome fire,
A bush of prickly gorse crackling, hissed with ire,
'Twas being eaten by sheets of white raging flame ,
When from that effulgence, there spoke The Holy Name!
Fearless Moses enquired, as 'twas his right to do,
"Voice speaking from the fire, tell me, who are you?"
A loud voice thundered, listen child, "I AM THAT I AM!"
Such was the revelation, uttered by that Sacred Name.

King David sang a psalm for his lyric harp to play,
One inspired and most auspicious summer day;
He raised his voice and sang "Commune with your heart
Upon your bed, be still." Such wisdom he did impart:
When joined with words, `I AM THAT I AM' as one's aim,
That's the same truth Sage Ramana did once proclaim.