The Golden Flute

A sea of peace and joy and light

Beyond my reach I know.

In me the storm-tossed weeping night

Finds room to rage and flow.

I cry aloud, but all in vain—

I helpless, the earth unkind!

What soul of might can share my pain?

Death-dart alone I find.

A raft am I on the sea of Time,

My oars are washed away.

How can I hope to reach the Clime

Of God's eternal Day?

But hark! I hear Thy golden Flute,

Its notes bring the Summit down.

Now safe am I, O Absolute!

Gone death! Gone night's stark frown!

So that was my very first attempt—over 40 years ago. And this particular poem that I am going to read out is only three hours old. You will see the difference. You can call it either my most deplorable degradation and say that I have gone "downhill," or you can say that I have made progress in a different way.

There was a time

When the poet in me

Prayerfully desired to roam and roam

Inside my heart-garden.

The poet in me now sleeplessly cries

To clasp the flower-beauty

Of my heart-garden.

And before long, the poet in me

Will meditatively grow into

The nectar-fragrance-delight

Of my heart-garden.