Atman Loves. Poem by Subrata Ray

Hi my dear me,
Who ever you may be,
By culture and habit.

In you are there the reflector,
The unborn eternal monitor,
Where from illumines,
The aura of abstract wine.

And me a passer by,
Crawling towards the high way,
By, this not, that not -way.

And love, -if any, one claims,
Unifies with you, -who is there to blame,
For Atman by its virtue, is all love,
It manifests from this transient cup.