Lucknow series – Poonja & Mira

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Harilal Poonja is playing with Krishna round the other side of Arunachala, and hookey from Ramana.  He had siddhis or powers.  He said, “keep quiet.”

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    FOR MIRA AND POONJA

With a ghee lamp   
butter from the cow is burned,   
leaving nor ash nor carbon.

With a ghee lamp   
the cow is burned; pure   
is Vedic light from the Sun she gives.

Fire, brave ship in water shining.   
Sun, bright fire in the sea alive.   
Water, deep peace of night.   

Fire is in the wood.   
Fire sleeps in the wood.   
Fire from the Sun   
is present in all beings. 

Let there be peace   
to all beings:  to rocks, plants,   
rivers, animals and people.   
Let there be peace. 

His soul is to her love released.   
In the flower childrens' fire,   
Master's body fell, was licked and torn,   
eaten, feasted. Let there be peace   
to all beings.

from Poems of Eclipse, 1999

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“The beauty in your Self has no landing place.  Why do you want a flat ocean?  

Let the arrow inward never land … “

Mira Decoux, London 1999

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   THE RIVER LADY

The wisdom of an elder, beautiful woman   
plays among the cows.   
The Daughter of the Mountain nomad   
knows not what'll happen next.

With her Master's zest   
she parries the prurient in the bud   
with deft shield   
and sword to pierce, with lighter touch. 

Because like Parvati, she by Ganges waited   
outside time, her spouse,   
an old, old river through her flows, a gravitas.   
A terrible compassion in her stands.   

Master's eyes are palpable   
in her round feminine face   
with wide laughter wrinkled -   
soft apples bloom, from the river.

Bhakti in the West is not well understood.   
The soul of bhakti is the effortless   
being taken;  Master's effortlessness.   
There is no lineage, no permission for the river.   

It overflows its banks, within my house.   
The room is filled with the river lady's 
way of hen partying   
here, with Master in our toes.

My thoughts are cradled in small sails   
the river takes to its own.   

They are brave little ships.   
They are butter, lit in paper boats.

from Poems of Eclipse 1999

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     JEALOUS … IN A FLEMISH VRINDAVAN

It seems inappropriate to say it   
when Papa says "keep quiet".   

By the old oak   
flows a brown dappled brook,   
pebbles teasing twigs you toss   
your devotees -   
"See? out it goes! your golden light, your bliss" - 
and oh! ... I am Rosy cross.

The sky within us as we walk   
together up the hill, doesn't talk.   
Mira, you are being a lioness with a kitten,   
that boy.

Making Vedic revelry in a Flemish glade -    
the gods together lightly    
tumble on the grass, mouth   
the little fishes kissing sacred space -   
and all are buddhas - your face!    
the dust reddens milkmaid paths   
of Vrindavan.   

As a child, your lover the Master   
played Krishna hookey   
in the nooks behind Ramana's hill -    

and in all of Master's children, tears   
of Master's bhakti laugh, roll flowing down his   
strong dark cheeks   

and he and you   
are calves of the god Govinda   
out of the white, dark eyed kine in argosy   
on holy river of dead souls,   
by barque of Self divinity,   
by bark of banyan tree and belgian beech,   
for bhakti in the Ganga is   
being taken 

for in Papa Poonja's heaven   
no lineage exists to know,   
and no permission is given   
for Ganga to flow;   

yet I am not your Master's child.   
I only pretend.   
And I see you playing   
goddess;  Mira you're being   
a lioness with a kitten,   
that boy.

In the brook's soft shhh ... 
by the old oak,   
rosy apples of alchemic lineage      
recall my roots from earth to heaven   
and to earth again   
agelessly - 

so there!

from Poems of Eclipse  1999

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2 thoughts on “Lucknow series – Poonja & Mira

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