He is as if a drape sweet made of moonlight strands
Crafted by the lord with craftsmen hands
With the fragrance of a flower wrapped in silk
A smile pristine as the bowl of Mahadev’s milk-
One that stitches together this, the world under and above
Bathing sinners in his eye-shaped pools of love
Hands fragile and sweet as a promise made
But his promise he truly does not break-
For each night I cry with sheer reprimand
To myself, yet solemnly does he stand
At what seems to me the pinnacle of plight
He gazes lovingly at my pathetic, sinful sight
And even as I cry to him to let me be
He drapes me more in his drape, my Swami.
This was a rough weave (pun fully intended) I crafted before school, tearing off a tiny thread of the drape he’s wrapped me in- one I’m not worthy of- a cocoon of warmth, affection and divinity, of sweet words and hands on one’s head.
Swamiji, when you talked about a sinner prospering, I knew not that I was the sinner prospering- a sheer consequence of your presence in my life.
How can I, a mortal, thank you? Thank the most skilled of skilled, the one who made a drape such that it exuded beauty as you do? A drape such that the three worlds are to you mere swatches of fabric and the stitch in your smile the stitch holding them together, in all the ten directions where your warmth floats above every heart holding love and every spirit laden with guilt and remorse.
Oh, Swamiji, you are beauty yourself. Purity in the purest form, and yet, you shower with love a sinner like me?
On your birthday and countless days before and after, it is you who gives, Swamiji. And I stand there solemnly with a platter of gratitude, love and respect- but what shall they do? They are mere additions to those supreme emotions that you’ve invented yourself.
There is little I can do for you, especially on your birthday, and that hurts my heart. But a promise made must be a promise kept- if I was taken on by you as a sweet child, a sweet child I shall remain- yours. Show such submission in your motherly love, I will, that in the rains if it is that I see you with your love pressing down as cool water on my skin, I shall dance in the rain, and if it be stark sunlight right after, I shall sit there and smile at your blessings in utter bliss, Swamiji,
For I know, it is simply the warmth of the drape that you wrap me in.
Happy Birthday, Swamiji. A really, really, terrific, happy birthday.
Immense, immense, immense gratitude, love and an effort to understand you,
Your petulant, annoying child,
A/N: If anyone’s reading this post, I’m extremely grateful for your time and support. Loads of love to each one of you. Keep smiling! 🤍