Like blades would cut,
Like a hundred prayers may rise to God,
Every prayer, with an empty stare,
Keeps fighting the smokes of despair,
In wars that only prayers can bare,
In wars, where souls… have flesh & blood.
In wars, of flesh & bones & laughs & moans,
& dawns may alter after dawns,
On hearts of ether & minds of stones,
& only souls may reach to God,
Only when her music did melt,
My myriad sighs was softly killed,
My smithereens of hopes left unfulfilled,
With all my smithereens of Love that dwelt,
That’s when her music once has melt;
Leaving my yearnings uncompelled,
Wiping defenses of routine,
Unreining my cosmos of every need,
suffusing me in my unseen,
The cornerstone of every creed,…
Her music was;
The eve of life in every seed,
Her music was,
The tenet you live with every deed,
Her music did cut souls to bleed,

Like blades would cut…
Those souls that walk a path of God…
Like faith with scars,
Like molten cries, outworn goodbyes,
& hundred thousand distant sighs,
They filled the skies of secret stars;
With that solitary airy theme,
Her music would leave you to faint,
& though it was itself a dream,
It would slumber with no constraint,
Into your core with every gleam,
Those gleams of notes no noise can taint,
Those gleams that once one sinner heard,
Then rose beyond a thousand saint,
Such music sailed beyond each word,
Beyond the unsubdued & unreined,
Till horizons of Love have blurred,
Till they fell dry.. those pens I’ve drained,
My heart have followed like a herd,
Those rhythms — on my heart have reigned
— The Music of the song I’ve heard;
The Mother of all songs retained…

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