Poetry Collection
Verses on spirit, silence & the infinite
A Vision
Out of the conflagration of heavens He came down,The burning clouds as entourage and thunders as her
Twilight Hour
Why grows mute my pen in this twilight hour,Why ink ebbs and doth sputtering cease?Can draw no more
Here and Hereafter
A hundred times hundred, nay a thousand thousandLives like this shall yet not recompenseA single hou
Mendicant
And they asked, “What worship is thine,Where gone loftiness leaving only the puerile,Where the grand
Amends
I worshipped and yet worship Thee O Sire,Venerate Thy eyes, the twin divine suns,Thy mind like an in
Solitudes
Oh for what rich glut of a forgotten birthDo I now atone with this barren worship?Were there splendi
The Jeweller
From each day I mined a nugget of glittering gold,Fruit of mind’s pick-axe thought ever hammeringBy
O Lurer
How many faces are Thine, O divine diamond,Each radiating streams of the ecstasies seven,In all Thou
Who Art Thou
Who art Thou burdening my heart with anguishes,And decorating my hours with sorrow’s flowers?What ca
Endurances
Sound no more a hundred somber horns,Nor the sweet lyre’s singing strings.The bright banners from si
The Storm and I
A piddling storm came ambling byBearing desire and fear with a sigh,“Take kindly Sirs, these offerin
His Laboratory
I am bound to a pillar of space by coils of time,Back and forth it winds through hours looping,I hea
Aspect
Thou hath grown to mine vision a splendorous many,A hundred forms break upon eye like rapturous wave
O Monarch!
How many serenades dost Thou pour in the airsCaressing my mute heart with redeeming touch,Drawn down
No More Homeless
A hundred ballads I wrote ere the break of dawn,Each a new melody to shame the coel’s song.A thousan
O Master, O Redeemer
O Thou, shaped like a perfect fresco on a facade of Time,A living painting of beauty set to infinite
Crest and Trough
All mine proclamations sum now to a venerating silence,My heart oath-bound to Thy inconceivable char
Is It I?
Of all thy mysteries O soul this the most highWhen thou doth consent by a body to be borne,Acceding
Master, Maker
I am more than my poignancies, exceed the sum of griefs,All the rude ills I outgrow, the sorrows man
I Caught His Tread
Oh not in rhythmic breath, not in seated musing,Not in deep contemplation, nor even meditation.Oh no
Awhile My Master
Blunted the sting of living painted forms,Powerless like a maleficent hazy mistThat snarls at night