Fruits

Poem — An Invocation to The Master #10

In my parched wastelands are their oases,
My silent vacancies harbour hundred voices,
My life’s depleted channels make plenty room
For Rudra’s hundred sons the Maruts to roam.
My mind is absolved of all human lessons,
It awaits the Lightning-wielder’s flaming summons.
I have quarried a hollow from heart’s rock
And steeled its walls and roof from desire’s shock.
My ardour has commissioned a shining pedestal
To bear in heart the impress of feet celestial.
By each gesture I pour a subtle libation
To highest Agni in a deep veneration.
I erect and dismantle an yagña an hour,
To conduct an yagña a moment I now aspire.

All fruits of my aspiration I shall gather
And place as offering to my Divine Sire.