Pebble

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Pebble

Poem — An Invocation to The Master #125

As I pause on the inkless page I wonder
If such a waiting for a reluctant muse
Didst ever make a Rishi to ponder
Seated in front of rising Agni’s blaze?

Didst he dwell on the dancing yellow limbs,
Glean meaning from the unspeaking tongue,
Like me summon in the moment reverence
That sometimes the flaming feet doth bring?

Who can speak of the alchemy here
Blending will and heart and aspiration,
For even if she doth repeatedly appear
Fickly is her mood to mortal assignation.

Oh, but I am no wayward muse
Vacillating like the wind or lay fortune,
For my will at Thy doorstep awaits
And my heart is by The feet in swoon.

Oh, stoop to receive my being all dull,
Amidst Thy brilliances what harm one lowly pebble?