Music's shrine & Silence

Let’s get things straight between us

dear God who does not exist.

You have no form, no face, no voice, no colour,

you are nothing yet claim to be everything.

I hear, “Aye rangrez mere, rangrez mere,”

“Sri Satyanarayanam upasmahe nityam.”

I hear voices divine from human throats,

fall at your feet dear god

who does not exist

only because adoration exists

more sublime than you can hope to be

now or later.

You’ve always lived the way you wanted to

dear god who does not exist.

Now I will live the way I want to.

No more yearning for shrines

where ardent or sagging bodies and souls jostle

for your disdain, sorry, kindly regard.

I don’t care if music is the way to your heart or not,

dear god qui n’existe plus,

if it is nada brahmam, whatever that means, or not.

I will spend my days at music’s shrine,

care two hoots whether work is worship,

invoke its grace that in another lifetime

I may sing “Aye rangrez mere, rangrez mere,”

“Sri Satyanarayanam upasmahe nityam,”

and know what god is, what worship is,

Amen.

Dreams of

The coastline of your silence

Sculpted through time

By seas of eternity