Friday, December 28, 2012

The found

O traveller under the blanket of night
Take little heed of your pitiful plight
Dark and wretched the path may be
Only by the light within will you see.

O seeker of the answers wise
Be wary of pride in disguise
The faults that down mansions are often small
So dwell in a place where there’s no further to fall.

O sailor of the tempestuous sea
Look how tenuous your life can be
Don’t you, with hands stretched heavenwards, implore
Only to forget on the safe lap of shore.

O wanderer of the distant lands
Your travels seem more aimless than drifting sands
Have you some secret that could only be
The traveller’s, the seeker’s, the sailor’s envy?

O lover of the Beloved unseen
More lost than the wanderer you seem
What can I, to this drunken soul, say
Which by losing itself has found the Way?

O Maker of worlds, most Divine
For these souls is this humble prayer of mine
Bless them; wake them up from their sobriety
Except for, as a lover himself said, let the lover be.