Searching for Solace

 In Ujjain:

“You choose to paint

as the cover of the book

a picture of your heart,”

I almost asked him to confess.

No words replied

he only sighed

a soft and thoughtful “yes.” 

* * * *

A little boy

in short pants

is walked home by his father.

Side by side, closely

they walk.

His father, a golden, glowing saint,

holds tight his son’s hand.

The boy glances up

and fears nothing

He is not alone

on the path home.

Yet the sun is setting

as it must.

The boy will cry

as he must.

But he will walk on

and will grow

into his father’s grown-up son

But never alone

holding tight

that ever-outstretched hand.

And he did grow

and like his father also glowed

and loved his father’s family, as did his father

And like his father

taught and shared and preached

showing culture and gentility,

and caring for

and serving all others with grace.

Time passed

His body slowly aged, as it must

but inside

he grew neither weary nor old

nor stuffy nor grumpy

nor angry nor cynical.

His eyes never narrowed

his eyelids never drooped

But rather

his dreams and heart expanded

to the stars above.

He remained always alive

with a simple, warm innocence

and childish glee.

Always his father’s son

always holding tight his father’s hand

never alone.

And now the sun has set again

as it must

at its ordained time,

and although the world cries,

dulls, dims, yet

a great son

of a great father--

inside always small--

but never alone,

hand in hand

with Prabhupada

has journeyed home.

* * *