Poems of Narad

A Razor's Edge

It is a razor's edge we walk upon
For now the world has grown to satiate
The few who dwell in darkness; light has gone,
Truth into falsehood grown and love to hate.

The Supermind is felt by more than the few
Who call themselves disciples and devotees,
For when the old is dying out the new
Seems distant and falsehood flourishes to please

Those who gravitate towards filth and mire.
Few are they who heed the inner call,
Few who can withstand the cleansing fire,
Yet many know but willingly forestall

Within the truth that has descended here
Perhaps from loneliness, desire or fear.