DEVOTION

THE SELF is very dear to all: from dearest love,
Unbroken Bhakti flows, like stream of golden oil.
Guru knows Self within, as his dear God above.
His child, after determined and persistent toil,

May see his Guru apart from Self, yet melts
Mind's strained logic, to find Faith in Him alone.
That blesed ever flowing fire of love, smelts
Soul's dross. His heart's desire, becomes his own.

The one who attaches mere form to Holy Name,
With Bhakti ripe, and knowing Truth complete,
In time transcends that image just the same.
The blossom on the bough flowers Self replete!

The fool who prays for selfish ends desired,
Fulfilment never finds; then he soon begins,
To love for sake of happiness, by God inspired.
This prayer, being granted, he conquers and wins.

In love with that One, the golden flow unceasing,
Soul grows a white lotus of purest devotion,
In calm stillness, its root in depth increasing,
Within heart's vessel to lead us o’er the ocean

Of strife, letting soul unfold, as Self of sky,
The One all wise, unlidded, and all seeing Eye!

EGOMANIA

It would be good if one could write a perfect verse
Of Truth; a poem which expresses the reverse
Of falsity and delusion. Man is trapped in illusion,
Vast populations dwell in chronic confusion,
Because of a dire disease called egomania,
Stretching from Greenland right down to Australia.

Symptoms of egomania obscure Real Being,
The Knowledge of True Self without really feeling,
The pure bliss of consciousness awareness grace;
Realising 'That' as ones own original face,
Not the one we see in the silvered looking glass,
That idolatry is one through which we must pass.

The way to achieve this more blessed sacred state,
Is by Self Enquiry, before it is too late.
We enquire within through attention 'Who Am I?',
And persist resolutely before we die.
Then the perfect Poem is unveiled, to be you,
Ones own pure loving Self.'That' alone is really True!

PHOENIX ARISE!

Enrobed in scarlet, a brilliant blazing bird,
With eagle’s strength, the child of sacred fire,
She sounds a cry, that’s forever heard
When consumed in Self-lit flames, she does aspire
From the funeral pyre, to show the world
Herself, reborn from death! Mankind she shall inspire.

In ancient time this wonder did inspire
Heliopolis, where flew this fabled bird,
To reach the Sun, lamp light of our shadow world,
And immolating in his mystic fire,
Her Being rose from ashes to aspire
To know New Life, such tales we've heard.

When this Egyptian legend was first heard,
The daring thought was one that did inspire
Each soul, that now had right to so aspire,
And follow the lead set by this courageous bird.
If self dares to die upon the sacrificial fire,
Pure Self will emerge as victor of this world.

This paragon is an emblem for our world,
Proclaiming news, that everywhere is heard,
Setting the wooden minds of men on fire,
The deathless spirit mocks at death to inspire!
Thanks to the valour of this wondrous bird,
The Soul of man, can to an after-life aspire.

So people of all lands can after all aspire
To reach the peak of hope in a worried world,
And pursue the flight of virtue like this bird.
So sound the golden bugle and be heard!
Men should know such transformation can inspire
To be born again in sacred sacramental fire.


The petty self is scorched in conscious fire,
And from ashes, the Self does once again aspire,
To such new birth, and the hearts of men inspire,
And transform their dismal dreary world.
Joy again, can everywhere be heard,
All thanks to thee, oh most excelling bird!

By wondrous art she does inspire our world,
It’s vital we aspire to what’s been heard,
Arise from sacred fire, dear Phoenix bird!

A SESTINA

DEVILISH TALK

Why are we devotees of a devil?
Why do we relish his talk and revel
In wild imagination and chatter,
Natter, natter,oh dear what's the matter?
He's the wretched slayer of all that's Real,
Full of stale garbage, planting a great deal
Of rubbish in poor worried anxious mind,
So our shining True Self's so hard to find.

It's time this rogue imposter was expelled,
Burnt to ashes, or on a stake impaled;
Then the soul can enjoy deep peace and love,
And all the blessings poured down from above.
He's egotistic and arrogantly vain,
To have him in our home is such a shame.

FIRE

1

THERE’S FIRE in ruby red, and fire at heart,

In hearth’s glowing grate, in passion’s flower,

In the night watchman’s light house tower.

Flame is sacrifice in the goldsmith’s art,

In forked lightning’s flash of thunderous power,

In rosey blushing dawn’s awakening start;

In red hot lava, with its flowing molten part,

In scarlet sunset’s radiant dusky hour.

Fire scatters galaxies like seeds of grain,

Stars are diamonds in God’s eternal crown,

Comets dance as planets watch, peering down.

The milky way’s a lustral bridal train,

Waltzing, whirling, walking on an astral plain,

Suns light up streets in this celestial town.

2

THERE’S FIERCE fire in germ of golden grain,

In heart of kindly King who sports a crown,

In neck of swan that’s gliding river down,

In monstrous belch of engine hauling train.

In glowing windows in everybodies’ town,

In fireflies flickering by night in verdant plain,

In stormy clouds proudly pregnant before the rain,

In angry rage of a self-righteous frown.

Fire dwells in stems of roses, red at heart,

In bees that drink from pollen’s virgin flower,

In the war torn ravage of a blazing tower,

In autumn leaves gilded by nature’s art,

In magic moments of the witching hour,

In such wonders, fire plays the most potent part!



3



FIRE flares golden in fine flaxen flowers,

Like the divine spark shining in every heart:

The flame of genius fans the painter’s art,

Fire hides in God who wields such powers.

In pent up horses before the races start,

In swift descent of angels at a blessed hour,

In a volcanic burst, viewed from a lofty tower.

In each life spirit, fire plays an essential part.

Fire acts when an evil house burns down,

Fire’s wild with wrath and wastes a wicked town;

Fire burns useless stubble from the harvest plain,

Fire bakes the bread, worked from winnowed grain,

Fire inspires the Sage, his votaries to train,

In the Kingdom of Creation, sacred fire’s the crown!


{A Triadic Sonnet Cylcle using the same rhyme endings in each poem]

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?