O Flame, O Guardian

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O Flame, O Guardian

A Sonnet

Courtesy Priti Ghosh

An Archmason is at work in my being.
By each brick of being now dismantled,
Comes down each nature crafted thing,
And all the studious mind invented.

I move aimlessly aimed like a bird,
My map a vastly constellated sky.
And trajectory helmed by whim and wind,
Knowing not to what end or nest I fly.

The yagna’s altar gone and the priestly fire, 
Vanished the ancient templates of inner pursuit, 
Stilled now the upturned urge to aspire.
Only remains a shadow unseen and occult.

O Flame, O Guardian, marshall thy scattered rays,
Rend the veil that masks the Eternal’s face.