Oh Martin Sometimes your voice was the thunder..Sometimes it was the falling rain. Always it burst our hearts asunder
and read more

Oh Martin Sometimes your voice was the thunder..Sometimes it was the falling rain. Always it burst our hearts asunder
and made them vibrate.. empathic in pain.

FIRE HAS LEFT THE HEARTH
Fire has left the hearth
Nautilus climbed from shell
Perfume flowed from read more

FIRE HAS LEFT THE HEARTH
Fire has left the hearth
Nautilus climbed from shell
Perfume flowed from bottle
Prisoner gone from cell
Butterfly flutterbied cocoon
nor hand restrained by glove
Jesus away from manger
Cage left by Spirit Dove.
Sparklings soared away from wand.
Chick's egg become the bird.
Omkar sung from out the throat
Violin's notes now heard.
Buddhist temple pine cone
tabernacle'd godlet seed
Shattered that it might manifest
thousand forests of fir tree
Eternal snow of mountain top
now nurses meadow flowers.
Shining never held by sun
relentless melts ice towers.
Love has left its
spring the heart
Is now a liquid pond
Host stolen from the chalice
consumed in mouth of God
Starlight abandoned star
a billion years ago
Left that tonight you
might
have its sight
and know
Know Love is forever
no drop of God ever dies
Lover not bound by form of love
God's bodies are not God's souls
(to his wife and children
on the death of Robert S)
(Baba Hari Das: is the author
of love is more powerful than
lover for love is not bound by
form).

If thou engrossest all the griefs are thine,
Thou robb'st me of a moiety.

If thou engrossest all the griefs are thine,
Thou robb'st me of a moiety.

Thank God, bless God, all ye who suffer not
More grief than ye can weep for. That is well--
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Thank God, bless God, all ye who suffer not
More grief than ye can weep for. That is well--
That is light grieving!

Grief tears his heart, and drives him to and fro,
In all the raging impotence of woe.

Grief tears his heart, and drives him to and fro,
In all the raging impotence of woe.

There is no grief like the grief that does not speak

There is no grief like the grief that does not speak

Great, good, and just, could I but rate
My grief with thy too rigid fate,
I'd weep read more

Great, good, and just, could I but rate
My grief with thy too rigid fate,
I'd weep the world in such a strain
As it should deluge once again;
But since thy loud-tongued blood demands supplies
More from Briareus' hands than Argus' eyes,
I'll sing thy obsequies with trumpet sounds
And write thy epitaph in blood and wounds.

In all the silent manliness of grief.

In all the silent manliness of grief.

There is no pain so great as the memory of joy in present grief.

There is no pain so great as the memory of joy in present grief.