Beloved ~ poem

[janice wilson]

Beloved

Oh beloved One
how did you get
inside of me ?

I love to feel you there
within the chamber of my heart
so happy I am

Where You and I
are One
One in joy , One in love

joyous delight found and felt
beyond all of my worldly
joys , loves , pains, sorrows,sufferings

Is this sweetest joy
in the eternal pool
inside my heart

Heart of gold we all have
pure, sweet , divine
greatest fortune

for a being who turns inside
opens , embraces , commits, loves
the most real , true , eternal within

~ Janice Wilson

[narinder bhandari]

KRISHNA

Krishna
Govinda
My Beloved !

This moment Now
Love
. Blossoms in my heart
As
Fragrance of Love,
Silence,
One-ness,
Being ,
Dancing merrily away
As Love and loving
In myriads of flavours !

Yesterday
The I am- ness of Krishna
Trapped in the infant body
Of
Nari-ness
Sought the mother’s breast
For sustenance
For love
For Being

And yesterday again
The I amness
Trapped still
In the virile body of young nari-ness
Sought the pulsating throbbing I am-ness
Of the Beloved’s body
For sustenance of Being
For love

And then, another yesterday it was,
Yearning and aflame
Ever afire,
Thirst still unquenched
the I amness beyond
In nariness still trapped
Sought the Loving cool fire
Of your own being …..
The Self…
That you are ….
Always were…
And will ever be !

And you
Govinda
Did choose
To bestow
On your I am ness
Trapped a million lives in nari-ness
The Love eternal
The Silence of Being
The Oneness of Being
The I amness beyond the ‘ I ’

The music flavour and fragrance of Being
Just Being!

The soft soothing song
Of the Self
Beyond the self ,
The I am-ness unknowable!
Jai Govinda

Thus did you
Expand the nari-ness
Unto
The Infinity of Space
In the point of a needle contained.

Into the Eternity
Of
This moment Now.

Where O Love,
Love is just Love
Your own Being dancing to your flute !

Where,
There is no Morrow
No Yesterday
No Today !

[desmond dillon]

hi thankyou

[desmond dillon]

i find myself keeping on reading this. mmmmmmm

[janice wilson]

I came , this poem as a gift fully formed ,
just as the experience it speaks of :)
thanks

[David Gould]

Yes this is the experience of many poets...that the words come and have to be written...sometimes I can do nothing till I write down what has arrived then there is peace and I can forget the words till I read them again and wonder what strange being wrote these lines.

janice wilson said:

I came , this poem as a gift fully formed ,
just as the experience it speaks of :)
thanks

[narinder bhandari]

So true , janice, and david ........................so very true ah !


Who is the Writer, Pray ?


I picked up the pen
. Writing I saw
So, too, the Pen and the Parchament
But I was struck with awe
The writer was nowhere to be found.

I thought of my Beloved
The Beloved I had never seen
And the heart said,
“It could only be Him
Yes, it could only be Him, the writer
Who was nowhere to be found”

If you were the writer, Lord
Were you also the Pen and the Parchament?
All? Or, were you beyond
The witness invisible

Were you the moving finger
Or, the mind behind it
Both? Or, were you beyond
The witness invisible

. Were you the Creation, Lord
Or, were you the Creator
Both, or neither, or, were you beyond
The witness invisible

Were you the self, pining and forlorn
Or the Self really you, the forgetful actor
Or, yet beyond were you, .Lord
The witness invisible

Were you the Unity of Existence, Lord
Or were you the two-ness of the manifest
Or yet beyond
The witness invisible

And beloved
Are you the questing spirit
The eternal question
Or, the One answer, death to the Question
Or are you beyond,
The silent laughter
The Light of lights, beyond all darkness
Art thou Lord
Or, art thou the Sound of Sounds, the Soundless sound
Or, are you the thundering silence
Of the witness invisible

Are you the suffering sorrow, Lord
Or, are you the ecstasy of bliss divine
Or, beyond bliss and sorrow
The witness unknowable

Every question is itself the answer
Each answer a begging question.
Neither question, nor answer, are you Lord
Only the teasing silence
Of the witness beyond.

The writing has come to an end, Lord
The pen has stopped
The writer is still a mystery..........
The nystery
Of the transcendence beyond.

~narinder