He’s called Vasudeva,
Lord in the heart,
or in solitude, standing apart –
for it’s knowledge He’s come to impart.
Maya’s clutches He’ll help us depart.
He’s aloof, and
majestic with grace;
behind splendor’s a smile on His face.
He was witnessed in ages long past
by saints pure in their prayers at last.
Tales survive in the
with instructions: “Just think of His form.
Thus illusion you will overcome!
Begin humbly, with His lotus feet.”
Brash and bold, I look
first for His eyes.
They’re uncommon, say words of the wise,
lotus petal-shaped, strikingly pure
and expressive! That’s why I am sure
if I saw, I’d behold in His gaze
our connection now hid by dark haze.
Long ago I forgot, can’t
remember my Friend
from that ocean of peace that surpasses my ken,
from that silence as lovely as music has been,
that original calm that was clarity sweet,
way before all the noise filled my heart with deceit.
Though I’m blind
by illusion so dense,
His unwavering presence I sense –
yes, in spite of offense and nonsense
He’s here, though my sins are immense.
He’s the expansion
of Lord Balarama,
that first guru, Nityananda Rama,
just awaiting surrender to His lotus feet –
then He’ll take me to Krishna, His mission complete.