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,My first friendship with the muse, Agni Press, 1973
Sourced from https://srichinmoylibrary.com/ffm