The Perfect Master reveals the Maha Yoga of you go,
Just like the perfect actor’s self vanishes in a show.
When the I, at last, starts to disappear from the mind,
The ego whines in protest that it is going blind.
God save us from the bogus Guru, whose real talent
Is to magnify me and mine into the truly repugnant.
When stone eyes sunken in sockets transmute into dust,
The heart surrenders to diamond song of radiant trust.
Life’s desires burn like a match to briefly flare and die;
Our only hope is like a candle to long for love and cry.
When Darvish’s tears freeze as they drip down his face,
The fire of longing will burn to an end without a trace.
The grace of the Perfect Master is the gift of surrender
Of all interminable melodrama to love pure and tender.