After coming home, I contemplated and this came.
The Sacred Ground
Mortal man, with blinded sight,
Calling dark what burns so bright,
In the ash where bodies lie,
"Govinda" echoes to the sky.
If His Name is chanted there,
Purifying all the air,
How can you, in foolish pride,
Cast the holy ground aside?
Mortal man, you shrink in fear,
From the Name you ought to hear,
Yet you walk with steady pace,
In your godless dwelling place.
In your home no hymns arise,
Veiling truth from weary eyes;
Safe within your walls you stay,
Where the Name is cast away.
Mortal man, the end is near,
To the place you hold in fear;
Where Lord Shiva makes his bed,
Blessing all the humble dead.
You prefer your house of lust,
Built of greed and worldly dust,
Seeking wealth and fleeting style,
Leaving God for things so vile.
Mortal man, look deep within,
See the pride that masks your sin;
Only there do egos fall,
Answering the final call.
Stripped of rank and worldly fame,
Chanting loud the Holy Name;
How can such a place be base,
Where the soul finds humble grace?
Mortal man, the truth is plain,
Death is but the end of pain;
View the plot before you buy,
Watch the flame before you die.
Do not meet it as a guest,
When you go to final rest;
In that ground the Truth remains,
Breaking all your worldly chains.
