Divine poetry and thoughts

[Jewell]

On the death of the Beloved


Though we need to weep your loss,
You dwell in that safe place in our hearts,
Where no storm or might or pain can reach you.

Your love was like the dawn
Brightening over our lives
Awakening beneath the dark
A further adventure of colour.

The sound of your voice
Found for us
A new music
That brightened everything.

Whatever you enfolded in your gaze
Quickened in the joy of its being;
You placed smiles like flowers
On the altar of the heart.
Your mind always sparkled
With wonder at things.

Though your days here were brief,
Your spirit was live, awake, complete.

We look towards each other no longer
From the old distance of our names;
Now you dwell inside the rhythm of breath,
As close to us as we are to ourselves.

Though we cannot see you with outward eyes,
We know our soul's gaze is upon your face,
Smiling back at us from within everything
To which we bring our best refinement.

Let us not look for you only in memory,
Where we would grow lonely without you.
You would want us to find you in presence,
Beside us when beauty brightens,
When kindness glows
And music echoes eternal tones.

When orchids brighten the earth,
Darkest winter has turned to spring;
May this dark grief flower with hope
In every heart that loves you.

May you continue to inspire us:

To enter each day with a generous heart.
To serve the call of courage and love
Until we see your beautiful face again
In that land where there is no more separation,
Where all tears will be wiped from our mind,
And where we will never lose you again.

John O'Donohue

[Jewell]

How can I see the splendor of the moon


How can I see the splendor of the moon
If his face shines over my heart,
Flaming like the sun?

The Turks in his eyes charge through my soul,
While untrue curling hair
Defeats faith.

Yet if he lifted the veil from his face,
The world would be undone,
The universe astounded.

He walks through the garden
With grace, erect,
His exquisite posture mocking even the straight cypresses.

He charges, riding his gnostic horse
Into the holy space of divinity,
The sacred sphere.

Tonight the Saki with its red-stained ruby lips
Pours wine for the luxury of every drunk,
And sates every reveler's taste.

As Hayati has drunk his ecstasy,
Her soul now satisfied by the wine of his pure heart,
How can she drink any other nectar?

Bibi Hayati

[Jewell]

The Shape of Love


What we see is not the most important.
Could dust rise without the invisible
hand of the wind?
Could a fan turn without any current?
Could lungs breathe without breath?
Tell me
What is the shape of Love?
How much does Joy weigh
when held in the palm of your hand?
Can you catch the Spirit of Life in a jar?

All things seen depend
upon the Unseen.
All sounds depend upon Silence.
All things felt depend
upon what is not felt.

Adyashanti

[Jewell]

Winter Lotus


Intoxicated by Krishna's bewitching form,
     I have renounced all propriety and
          wander the forest shamelessly.

He strikes from the corner of His wide,
     lovely, Lordly eyes
          with that crooked,
               sidelong glance.

     O, friend!
Is there anyone capable of restraining herself
     after seeing His smiling face,
          brimming full of love?

I am like a winter lotus —
     struck, bent, and broken
          by an elephant.

 Rasakhan

[Jewell]

Enchanted


I put my fingers in my ears
     to block the sound
          whenever Krishna gently plays His flute!

Declares Raskhan,
     "It happens when enchanter Mohan
          climbs to the rooftop
               to call His cows.

"I issue a warning to all the people of Braja.
     Tomorrow, I will not be able to console them.

"O, friend! Having glimpsed His smile,
     I cannot...
          I cannot...
               I will not
                    control my love."

 Rasakhan

[Jewell]

She's found him, she has, but Radha disbelieves

She's found him, she has, but Radha disbelieves
That it's true, what she sees when her eyes behold
     her master's moonlike face.
Her gaze is fixed, but her mind is glazed,
     her eyes refuse to close;
And her intellect wages a raging debate:
     Is it a dream? Or is this her true Lord?
Her eyes fill and fill with beauty's high pleasure,
     then hide it away in her breast:
Like bees driven wild by any distance from honey
     they dart back and forth from the hoard to the source.
Sometimes she musters her thoughts; she wonders:
     "Who does he love? Who can this Hari be?"
For love, says Sur, is an awkward thing.
     It ripples the mind with waves.

Surdas

[Balaji]

Ramana Satguru

There was also a devotee from Chidambaram, Subrahmanya Iyer, who often sang with great fervour Tiruvachagam, hymns in praise of Arunachala by Bhagavan, and songs in praise of Bhagavan also. One morning when he began a song with the refrain, "Ramana Satguru, Ramana Satguru, Ramana Satguru Rayane," Bhagavan also joined in the singing. The devotee got amused and began to laugh at Bhagavan himself singing his own praise. He expressed his amusement and Bhagavan replied, "What is extraordinary about it? Why should one limit Ramana to a form of six feet? Is it not the all-pervading Divinity that you adore when you sing 'Ramana Satguru, Ramana Satguru?' Why should I not also join in the singing?" We all felt lifted to Bhagavan's standpoint.

Om Namo Bagavathe Sri Ramanaya

[Subramanian.R]

Dear Balaji,

Yes. Ramana Sadguru is the name of all pervading Self, Paramatma. Sri Bhagavan had no name.

Arunachala Siva. 

[Jewell]

Dear Balaji,

Yes,i like that story alot. It can teach us something,like what You said,it is all-pervading Divinity that we adore,and in the same time it is very sweet. Beautiful!

Thank You Very much!

With love and prayers,

[Balaji]

Kavyakantha Ganapati Sastri, was not merely a sastri, a learned man, but a poet and a tapaswin. His broad forehead, bright eyes, aquiline nose, charming face and beard, and the melodious ring in his voice - all these proclaimed that he was a rishi to be ranked with the foremost of the Vedic Seers. There was authority, dignity and sweetness in his talk, and his eyes sparkled as he spoke. He recited the following verse (sloka) in praise of Bhagavan, which he had just then composed, and explained its import :

1/ It is effulgent Devi Uma sparkling in your eyes dispelling the ignorance of devotees;
2/ It is Lakshmi Devi, the consort of lotus-eyed Vishnu, alive in your lotus face;
3/ It is Para Vak Saraswati, the consort of Brahma, dancing in your talk.
4/ Great Seer, Ramana, the Teacher of the whole world,
5/ How can mortal man praise you adequately?

Om Namo Bhagavathe Sri Ramanaya

[Subramanian.R]

Dear Jewell,

Ramana Sadguru poem (along with four other poems,) has been written by one Satyamangalam Venkatramana Iyer, in
1910-11, much earlier than Sri Bhagavan's Sri Arunachala Stuti Panchakam.

These poems are chanted on the evening of every Saturday evening in parayana in the Samadhi Hall.

Arunachala Siva. 

[Subramanian.R]

Dear Balaji,

Yes. This is one of the verses of Ramana Chatvarimsat.

Arunachala Siva.
 

[Jewell]

Dear Balaji,

Beautiful verses,from Beautiful Soul Kavyakantha Ganapati Sastri!
It is indeed impossible to praise Bhagavan,our Sadguru adequately. There are no words to describe His Greateness. Our efforts toward reaching the Truth,and selfinquiry are best praise,i believe.

Thank You Very much!

[Jewell]

Dear Sri Subramanaian sir,

Yes,these poems are truly wonderful. I listen chantings of some poems on the internet. However,it is probably completely different experience to listen that at Ramanashram itself. And Ramana Sadguru is truly Beautiful poem!

[Jewell]

Night Mirror


Li-Young, don't feel lonely
when you look up
into great night and find
yourself the far face peering
hugely out from between
a star and a star. All that space
the nighthawk plunges through,
homing, all that distance beyond embrace,
what is it but your own infinity?

And don't be afraid
when, eyes closed, you look inside you
and find night is both
the silence tolling after stars
and the final word
that founds all beginning, find night,

abyss and shuttle,
a finished cloth
frayed by the years, then gathered
in the songs and games
mothers teach their children.

Look again
and find yourself changed
and changing, now the bewildered honey
fallen into your own hands,
now the immaculate fruit born of hunger.
Now the unequaled perfume of your dying.
And time? Time is the salty wake
of your stunned entrance upon
no name.

Li-Young Lee