The Traveller Rests

The White Lotus

Corbett ParkIn search for happiness,
I wandered wide
This life I squandered,
In search for a life.
In places of worship,
In cities of sin,
In palaces, in caves,
In fasting and in raves.
In sermons, and in tomes,
In crowds and when alone,
Parched I did stray,
Every path, every way.
And then…I paused
In growing wonder
For in my heart gushed,
The river of nectar.
In throw of dice nor the stars
My fate can’t be read in tarot cards.
The key to my kismet,
Lies in my belief
There’s no cause for fear
No reason for grief
For I am the traveller,
And I am the road,
Where need I go,
For I am the goal?
The elusive scent
That would not let me rest,
Is not of the rose,
Nor the flame o’ forest.
This fragrance arises
In the mystic white lotus,
That blooms in me ’n in you,
And in all of us!

(Translated from original poem in Hindi by self)

Betukbandi, May 2012

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