6 years passed..

6 years back, by this time,
The first answers for the prayer of the heart came.
Time has passed since then,
ups and downs,
and this leap from 5 to 6 indeed was most challenging,

and should remind corrections in the journey hereafter.

Those days of kissing the early morning dew,
walking high up, searches to find You;
ashes on the forehead, beard, and Rudhraksh,
walking on foot for miles with one thought: finding a meaning.
Hiding anger, burying passions, eyes on the sky looking ever,
tears were the only solace.

My asking to connect with the Whole repeated day after day.
College notes filled with poems of longing and despair,
signed off as recluse and mad by those in the world.
The game went on
till I met someone impressive,
carrying Your image on his home wall.

My freak questions and weird imaginations—
You answered very patiently.
Never You let me loose,
and ensured I let loose all those heavy bonds of non-sense.
You shone bright, day after day,
and one day, the brightness was so impeccable and unbearable
when Thee showed Thy true face.
Tears... just tears could be my response.

Thee took me by heart, pulled myself toward You,
walked me through
the fountains of joy,
day and evening.
Those special weekends when evenings became endless,
dilated and purified,
merged my age-long loneliness
with the wholeness that Thee had created

In bosoms of patience and love,
With all these creatures, so-called humans.
Who else other than Thee could consume
the poisons,
showering ever rains of bliss infinite?
Oh... I am
as alone and collective.

How unworthy still, to carry 

Thy image in heart!
The world sees through us to see Thy face; 

badly reflecting mirrors.

When I put my head, Thy temple is raised.
My sight goes; the fragrance of Thy feet's dust awakes.
My hands reach; all the pains are healed.

Every step of my walk evokes ripples of love.
Then I have seen Thy image in my heart.
Till then, I haven't done justice to my tears,
for which Thee came.
The journey continues.

Words so dry, praises so superficial;
talking high, posing high—
traps of ego’s self-deception,
monsters of conditionings.
So low, yet
the path of ancient yore,
those great sons of Thine walked,
is yet to be seen.

My dream in You,
for You in me.