The polished perfection of the chrysalis Etched in gold or silver artistry, A house of mystery and hidden bliss Transforms the worm into the butterfly.
So too this body beautiful and flawed Encapsulates the soul of things to be, For one who works unseen and is the Lord Of all creation sculpts our destiny.
Unfelt by us he works unrecognised And slowly to a few his face unveils, For centuries the avatar despised By man who in his littleness fails
To see the light that burns within his breast And must be born and die a thousand ways In endless lives to labour on oppressed And suffer the blows of fate that mar his days,
Forgetting God who deep within him dwells, One who is the dreamer and the dream, Suffering through undiminished hells To reach at last the ever-flowing stream
Of truth that widens into seas of bliss And light divine, death's antithesis.
Poems Undated (1727)
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