Call Of The Mystical One
In the monk's cave I hear those pleadings,
by Ayni Poet
Prayers scattered in a temple of solitude
The path of renunciation sketched in metallic shades,
Resonating in the singing bowls,
A glacier life blazed by prophetic darśana.
In the houses of the medina,
No refuge from the cliffs of pleasure exists,
The taverns are full and the laughter goes on
Like a livid chorus,
An andante of misery, strife and avarice,
Armies versus armies brawling
For fists filled with pearls.
Those who wish to know which way to step on,
To renounce or to pursue,
A beatific vision needs not a cave
Neither Krishna will appear at the tavern,
A white rook is not superior than a black rook on the chessboard,
The Numinous Potentiality is even.
One zealous in sense gratification
Carefully vested in the fruits of actions
Engrossed by the objects of manipulation
Will stay with the prosaic.
One bent by countless reverences,
Offering ovations by learned belief,
Bhakti without jnana,
Stands again, apart from it.
Oh dear Lover,
Silence is the locus where we meet.