Myriad Reflections. Shastri Akella

Rendezvous
what is the substance
of a baby’s dream
what does the mind, fresh as lily-petal and untouched by desire
envision in the hours of somnolence

what are the beseeches
laced into a mendicant’s prayer
the one who has given it all up in the powerful wake of renunciation

what are the notes
silence is made of

and what is the color of music
is it a hotchpotch of the colors of the nine emotions,
or something different and singular?

I sought these answers everywhere:
in the galaxies, amidst star-crossed patterns of the cosmos
in the darkness of the netherworld, in cold, unexplored planets
but found them finally in surrender to your

serpentine flow, Ganga

Floating over your waters
I found matter: flowers, lamps, and the ashes of the dead
all together, adrift: existence as it is
devoid of organization and judgment
the fluid expedition of vivid sensations

and I discovered what a baby’s dreams are made of

I submerged myself into your undercurrents
and heard the prayers of mendicants
whispered into your ears
during countless oblations

give us not the wealth of kingdoms or the
might of emperors, they said
they sought neither the exalted seat of the Gods
nor age that extended unto eternity

they sought thoughts clear as your waters,
journeys well-defined with purpose as yours,
and life experienced as a rose-petal lilting,
floating over your being, purifying all that comes in mere contact

I found the truth of silence in the space,
between prayer and oblation,

in that one defining moment,
between an uttered chant,
and the music of your waters squishing and parting
to let my head plough through

your placid waters elucidated,
how silence itself is note, a single note,
that occurs between every pair of notes,

at that breathtaking fraction,
where one note ends,
and the next begins,

padding the two elements of music with a touch of thoughtfulness,
transferring the canto to the realms
of fulfillment

lascivious as any musical note
and yet sovereign
a bridge connecting two lands of brilliance

the color of music
I found floating over your waters
rich as the cry of a flute
powerful as the percussion of a pakhwaj

a merger of all the colors it was – a sparkling white
full of and yet distinct from the colors of the nava rasas
much like your waters, a mingling of human faiths and yet independent of them

my rendezvous with you stands complete
yet I stand along your bank
beseeching unto the Gods

Drenched I am the waters of the Ganga

Drenched I am in nectar
heed my prayers, O honey-bees of the heaven
I seek thy sting of redemption