Long lost


My faults are countless, yet

With joy I see the faults of all.

I kindle thus my pyre,

Ever to hear death’s constant call.

My soul is far, too far;

In fruitless thoughts of clay I live.

Long lost my mission vast;

In eyeless chasm I now must grieve. ```

From:Sri Chinmoy,AUM — Vol. 8, No. 9, April 1973, AUM Centre Press, 1973
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