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.


From:Sri Chinmoy,Poetry: My Rainbow-Heart-Dreams, Perfection-Glory Press, Augsburg., 1993
Sourced from https://srichinmoylibrary.com/prh