The heart-war goes on, like all other wars, unnecessarily,
It continues as long as one doesn’t know one is eternally free.
If your heart-bell hasn’t chimed when the tongue of God-Man’s name has been striking it,
When the hammer of his Word strikes the gong of the world you will hardly be liking it!
My days have become emptied of purpose, an idleness in the sun.
The world and its affairs are in my Master’s hand: He does what is to be done.
What an immense journey it was from the bursting of the suns from your Word to this green earth!
Yet all the while Earth, fully formed, was hidden in the midst of the suns, waiting to take birth.
To remain still, though busy, with no thoughts behind or before, singing the Beloved’s beauty:
This is the sole occupation of the Love Street dust-dwellers, their only duty.
We have proved that the world is a box of dreams, a bag of words, a bundle of occasions;
A kiss of meeting, a short laughter, a weeping of departure, a swift flight of seasons.
I began life as a stone. That was when I learnt how to wait.
Without patience I wouldn’t have arrived at the rosegarden’s gate
You have said: Drown all sounds in my silence so that you may hear my words of words.
Yet you demand fresh songs — to bind me in your net of contradictory cords!
Thank God you have shown me that the world is a nothingness and that God is a myth.
Only you and I are; and since I am not, there is only you to reckon with.