Let me narrate my woes To my heart’s content To the Maker and Keeper Of our lot in this world And in all worlds.
He does listen and grants The prayers of all- Sages and saints, Prophets and mendicants, princes and paupers. But He will take longer than all To hear me whose tale is full- Suppressed and swelling, And swollen but not bursting, Like the sea- boundless and fathomless, Placid and self-absorbed With richness and splendor beneath But disturbed With tremendous waves and tempests Reaching across the shore-less shores Under the eternal Silver, blue, grey and black clouds Adored by the hide and seek Of red, crimson, golden and silver sun.
I must tell this all To the Maker and Keeper Till He exhausts, And blesses me With golden justice- And there is Bliss and bliss!
