The screaming of a mother Who lost her newborn cub, The passion of a lover Who craves life’s every drop, The last words of a dying man Who clung with all his might, The songs of blinding white birds That rain during their flight
The raging anger of a lawyer Fighting, red-faced, for his case, The bubbling laughter of a toddler Unaware of his own grace, The innocence of snowbell flowers When they first appear In the early light of February Whispering gently, “spring is near…”
My arms stretch up, higher, taller, Reaching out for Truth They tremble in their loneliness, Longing to be rescued To be held, to be cradled, To be kissed with moist, warm lips To be worshiped and to worship To catch the rain that gently drips
And to drink this life-brewed liquor As it falls from heaven’s tree In which every form dissolves In sweet union with Thee With Thy wisdom, with Thy breath, With Thy overwhelming touch This heart burns, this soul yearns This skin cracks, it hurts so much
I know you’re hidden in the dungeon Of excruciating pain, I know so, for you came and promised It in every drop of rain, Thus, rip me open, tear this skin loose When I run from Truth in fright, So surely upon arrival There won’t be anywhere to hide
Deprive me of my worn-out wardrobe, Of my words, my ears, my sight, I am yours Love, come and get me Come and wed me as Your bride
Chris is a Hridaya teacher and movement and dance facilitator.