It’s local made, on earth, the humans’ home.
It’s better than ambrosia, in taste;
juicier than Soma, heaven’s sour rhizome,
manna and havis are lesser a feast.
Some cowgirls found a beautiful black brat
epochs ago, with teasing smile in eyes
and peacock quills in crown. And like a cat
He stole their milk and hearts, hush-hush and nice.
He played sweet tunes on flute and told of bliss
divine. The naive cowgirls said “We know
nothing of that. Come ye, make love and kiss,
and in romantic dhow oh let us row.
“I’m just a little boy!” He said “And kids
are holy like the God, innocent, clean
and chaste. Believe me, I can’t play your bids
but can teach you wisdom and sins all wean.”
“Lo Wisdom is supreme!” He said. “Nay, nay!
Love made this world!” They laughed. “Control desires!”
He roared. “We desire you, all night and day…
what more… ye hear our hearts playing love lyres? “
“We made our hearts into an altar, where
we burn the ritual fires of love. Your names
our sacred mantras, our seductive stares
tantras and souls…havis in Vedic flames.”
“What is wisdom, than knowing you? If you
are Krishna, yes, we too. When I am Radha
you too. If you are everywhere, we too.
Oh dear we’re one, not two…this’s love’s new law!”
“In Vedas you propounded Karma, ere
to help the humans live in harmony;
and Jnana too, the pure wisdom, to stir
the soul till melds with great eternity.”
“But kept for yourself one greatest secret,
the easier ruse to win your cosmic spirit…
it’s love, it’s love, you haven’t revealed it yet.
We guess, it’s not a part of your first writ.
