Upon rain-loud nights, the peacock calls in company,
Away mind drifts to obtain Thee.
Don't You know, don't You notice,
On the lids of my eyes no drowsiness is there.
The screwpine pollen state: "We also drift;
We like to go on thinking about only Him.
We cry on just His account, just for Him we grin;
In that contemplation we forget the throes of agony."
The kadam hairs, in joyful thrill, horripilate;
Toward the sky with moist eyes they gaze.
Mental lyres sing out with melodies ablare;
In Your sweetness dance both realms, mundane and heavenly.
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Friday, December 8, 2023
Thinking of Thee
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I find a world that seeks and sings, and I no longer wish to sleep.
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