She comes
More often than we know
Quietly
Knocking
Sometimes thumping
Its ways are subtle
Yet these days she thumps
At just those moments
When you hear nothing
Gentle is its door
For the soft are pure
Close to the door
Be ready for the fall
Only the arrogant
Are ever upright
When you fall
She sweeps you up
And raises you
To the seamless cup of life
You cannot see the temple
Or the door
Not even the path
Let go
The one prepared to witness
The lowest to the finest
In him
Is able to walk the line
In between
This line is what we call ‘Human'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Beautiful rendition elegantly brought forth with spiritual insight. Poignant piece of poetry set aside for sober reflection. Thanks for sharing Kiran and do remain enriched.