Journey

Those green valleys with those lush meadows,
The bee on the flower and the birdling in the nest,
That trickling stream, running down the mountains,
Those drops of rain and the gentle breeze sweetest,

Those high aims, those lofty ambitions,
Those long struggles and those victories great
Those melancholies and bursts of mirth,
Those smirks to self at treacherous turns of fate,

Those benign people living in inviting homes,
Those smiling faces, with greeting hands,
Those times spent in the pleasant company,
But mere images drawn on the eternal sands.

The feet move with ease by themselves
The hands held aloft on their own,
Away, away my heart, I am carried off,
Yonder to the place He does own.

Shivam Shankaram Shambhumeeshaa na meede!
(From Shivashtakam)