The Masks of Thee

Poem — An Invocation to The Master #2

This world is a grandiose design of Thee,
Formed of Thy clay divine.
A contradiction’s ire looms large upon its reason,
A mask hiding Thy harmony.

Darkness is Thy sun’s unhealed grief,
A willing accomplice in the game of death.
Falsehood bears the brutality of Thy dark mirth,
A truth running away from itself.

The earth-hour suffers a timeless curse,
Kali’s terrible dance on its fragile breast.
Thy contraries hold the key to a larger light,
From death to immortality by Thy grace.

The boons and bounties of Thy rich harvest
Can only come into this dolorous hour
By spilled blood and severed attire,
A price in red for Thy deathless light.

Or, if man consents to Thy change
And be in Thy charge and servitude for ever,
Thy law shall prevail triumphantly over
And win for him the crown of a sage.

If only humanity thrives of Thy purpose higher
And live in the largeness of Thy deathless spirit,
All shall come hither into its dark brood
And lit there a lamp of Thy inextinguishable fire.

Man must bear the cross of his ignorance
And walk through the twilight of soul to light;
A marvel waits in ambush at the other end
In the firmaments of a self-exceeding bliss.

My soul and spirit adrift upon Thy dreaded seas of night;
I shall arrive by Thy grace into Thy sunlight.