Poems of Narad

The Spirit of Youth

I lived in a private world of green and gold
And felt the pulse of earth beneath my feet,
I held her fragrant in the cooling eve
And burning in my hands at heat of day,
Rich with the hidden wealth that fuels our lives.
The dark tales of our fallen night ignored
As the silver moon danced brightly through the trees.

I knew summer as the cleansing stream
Whose waters cooled the hot and tired flesh
And soft sweet grasses pillowing my head,
Contented as I watch the cloud-drift sky.
The bursting cherry and the spicy pear
Were like a nectar from another world.
The woodland thrush who sang of pure delight,
The cardinal in his brilliant summer dress,
All seasons were to me a gift divine,
The silent snow bending the hemlock bough,
Tinsel hanging from the scented fir,
More than memory they are alive
Forever in the reaches of my soul.
The spirit of youth never died in me.
Although the body ages I am younger now,
Still breaking the rigidities of mind
To open wide the heart embracing all.

Think not that pain and sorrow passed me by.
I have stood at the bed of many as they died
And wept or prayed as the unseen soul
Took flight beyond the kingdoms of the sun.
These searing griefs now lifted one by one,
The healing of the wounded heart begun.
The difficulty is to face oneself,
To meet the imperfections lodged within
With steadfast gaze acknowledging the flaws
And all that is inadequate, impure
To ruthlessly evict from the soul's house;
The petty acts, the thousandfold desires
Woven as a net of fantasy,
The streams of thought that plague the burdened mind,
A path to calm, a peace and stillness find
Amid the crowded avenues of life.

It is said that now is the time of retirement
But I refuse the fate of growing old.
Hardly have I begun, the way is long
And little have I grown these passing years.
Either to fight for every yard as in a war
Or yield the being up to a higher Will,
A Force that can in seconds exorcise
The residual darkness still alive in us
Hidden in the folds of sanctity,
On wings of truth guide the wingèd soul
To beauty and the ambience divine.

O muse of mine speak to me of joy
And love the flaming arrow pierce my heart
That I may die to self in the Alone
And drink delight in all creation here,
Revere the God who hides behind the veil
And waits the hour that with strengthened eyes,
Bodies purified and minds that know,
We may look for once at the undying light
And see the face divine that is our own,
All beings one, all contraries unite
In the marvel and the splendour that is come.