© Vizafotodreamstime_xs_26706325

 

Before any of the worlds began,

 

Before the wind spoke,

 

Before thought or word came to be,

 

The first flowers awoke

 

And opened their lilac eyes to scan

 

The delicate drift of wandering mist

 

Lilies in the earliest light,

 

In the dewdrops shining before

 

The sun could ride

 

Across the wide

 

Sky,

 

Before the moon and the stars could sail

 

Over the mountain,

 

Only flowers were there then,

 

On the hillside,

 

With leaves of emerald,

 

Stems warm in the earthen soil,

 

Petals unfolding into jewels of amethyst

 

Rose, gold, and green,

 

The blue lotus opalescent in the rains of dawn,

 

Only flowers,

 

Not much more –

 

And also all and every living soul,

 

Unseen,

 

Who are the one eternal soul,

 

Now, after the eldest cities from the farthest lands

 

Are gone

 

The way of the deeps,

 

Where the scale of the fish gleams

 

In the indigo waters,

 

By the graves

 

Of artifacts unfound,

 

Lost by the daughters

 

Of the dark-gowned

 

Orb of the moon,

 

With so little culled

 

From toil

 

In the time-worn sands,

 

All the ages gone

 

In the shifting winds of samsara

 

In the end,

 

Do you wonder what might be or why?

 

Soon,

 

All will fold up again

 

Into the rain-winged mist,

 

Into the peace of the flowering bowers

 

Of Brahman –

 

Narayana, soul of the stars and the song-told tale

 

Of the sacred tree,

 

Narayana, the one who sleeps,

 

And sometimes dreams,

 

In the bright,

 

Blossoming waves,

 

On the folded coil

 

Of Adi Shesha,

 

By the rock-lit shoal

 

Of the ever-sounding sea.

 

 

©  2015, Sharon St Joan

 

Photo: © Vizafoto / dreamstime.com