A complaint to the Mother

```

Ego:

Mother, truly ungrateful are

The dingy human souls.

My labour has freed them from stark

Venomed, Inconscient doles.

Alas, in return they call me names.

Their missiles dire now hound

My aeonless breast from dawn to dusk;

To their hatred I am bound.

Mother:

Offspring, speak out the blue-gold truth.

Where are your words of mail?

Why dungeon-mates of your sombre past

Why ego at you must rail?

Man:

During our ignorance-dawn she was

Our lonely teacher pure.

But we claimed not our heritage.

So this breach we needs must endure.

Spirit our only changeless guide.

To It alone we bow.

Save It our deathless Form is void.

Thou art the Tree and It the bough.

Mother:

Ego, my erring, doleful child,

Aside you cast your ire.

Inevitable was your gift.

Man now needs the Spirit's Fire

To change his face and sombre fate.

The sky-vast golden Dawn

Can alone slake his sleepless thirst.

He my lion, you my fawn. ```

From:Sri Chinmoy,The Mother of the Golden All, Agni Press, 1974
Sourced from https://srichinmoylibrary.com/mga