[painting: "Tunnel of Love" (2017) by m.r.]

Ghazal While Making Breakfast

Cooking breakfast at my campsite, I survey the terrain of a new day.
Peace! Yet there’s no telling what may lie a moment or an hour away!

Though we say we live for decades in the same domicile,

Internally we’re always moving—first, toward death’s turnstile,

Then the next birth, till the greater Journey is finished.

This hidden motion’s importance should not be forgotten or diminished.

Harmony with surroundings is not the same as Union.

My life’s a contemplation of that particular koan.

Not only do I ponder, though, I do my best to crack the lock

Shattering the I-Thou barrier and exploding every clock.

You are the Lover and Beloved in One, as we sing in Your Arti.

Your making me that as well will end maya’s long party.

I’m doing my best, or “doing my best”—can’t tell which is true.

You tell us, “Trying leads to Grace”. What a helpful clue!

I flap my wings, those subtle wings which are as yet just buds,

Then fall on my face so often I’m now a connoisseur of muds.

One day, though— and likely an “ordinary day” that begins like this—

The kalpas-long slog will pass the Gate of Eternal Bliss.