My bosom pinesI build castles in the air; the Grace divine
Never descends to cure my doleful heart.
I house wild thoughts; I feed wrong deeds undivine.
I must now shift my mind from the busy mart.
O Peace supreme, for you my bosom pines.
In you alone my will shall meet the One.
Out of harm's way my golden thoughts shall dwell.
My life is growing into my inner Sun.
Sri Chinmoy, My first friendship with the muse, Agni Press, 1973