The immensity of a past that had no beginning,
Of a future which will have no end: this is my singing;
The immensity of a past that had no beginning,
Of a future which will have no end: this is my singing;
Slowly, slowly the drop-lover rises from the tangled sea floor;
Slowly, at last, by wave and current he makes his way to the shore.
Nothing into nothing, and a chasm created by grief!
Pour wine, Beloved, for your lovers lest I strain their belief.
If we expect rewards, we have gone over to the Beloved’s enemies.
Even realization of Self – our right – will be when the Beloved shall please.
How can He who eternally is be other than what He is?
If today He breaks his word, tomorrow He will fulfil His promise.
We are all vagrants living from hand to mouth a day at a time
Wave-riding, current-rafting, having broken free from the sea-slime.
We have no way of sounding the depths of Is-ness of Him,
We have no way of measuring the extent of His divine whim.
Our drop-souls are of the ocean of Truth, their bubbles are bright snares
Which keep us in the sea of Illusion playing ‘musical chairs.’
My trouble began when a madman whispered a word in my ear –
A word, a name – and I became mad that its form should appear.
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These works include his poetry, ghazals, music, plays, prose and songs both published and unpublished.
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