The sculling clouds
She is naturally abashed
"Come, Radika bai,"
The gentle zephyr brushes against the willow branch,
It drifts in waltzing motion to the thrill.
The ocean tide rolls and slides onto the shore,
Glistening in its reflected joy.
The cloud imperceptibly transforms its multi-dimensional halo of light,
Entrancing the souls of children and dreamers.
The motherly dove fluttering to build her spring nest,
Cooing the mysterious music of birth.
The throbbing heart of the expectant lover,
Hovering in eager longing for the appearance of her delayed beloved.
The elderly woman, body worn and consumed by years of toil
Shuffles toward Bethlehem embodied in her tousled bed.
The scuttling frantic thoughts of a fearful youth trapped in turmoil,
Ensnared outside his reason and wisdom, running away from his self respect.
All these tremulous waves of expanding motion,
Whirling, trembling, wandering, writhing, drifting.
All shadows of Your intricate weaving dance,
Lightly moving to the music of ecstasy.
This is from a book entitled From The Path Verses On The Mystic Journey,