This is My Symphony
Arising from her jewelled bower,
Dawn steps from out the flaming sky,
And in her hand are hopes that flower,
And at her feet the hours that die.
And ere the darkest shadows fall,
Sweet Evening comes from twilight lands,
And pours her peace upon us all,
And touches us with healing hands - poetry by L.D.
What is Love
Love is the scent with the lotus born.
It is the silent choirs of petals Singing the winter's harmony of uniform beauty.
Love is the song of the soul, singing to God.
It is the balanced rhythmic dance of planets - sun and moon lit
In the sky hall festooned with fleecy clouds
Around the sovereign Silent Will.
It is the thirst of the rose to drink the sunrays
And blush red with life.
'tis the promptings of the mother earth
To feed her milk to the tender, thirsty roots,
And to nurse all life.
It is the urge of the sun
To keep all things alive.
Love is the unseen craving of the Mother Divine
That took the protecting father form,
And that feeds helpless mouths
With milk of mother's tenderness.
It is the babies' sweetness,
Coaxing the rain of parental sympathy
To shower upon them.
It is the lover's unenslaved surrender to the beloved
To serve and solace.
It is the elixir of friendship,
Reviving broken and bruised souls.
It is the martyr's zeal to shed his blood
For the well-beloved fatherland.
It is the ineffable, silent call of the heart to another heart.
It is the God-drunk poet's heartaches For every creature's groans.
Love is to enjoy the family rose of petal-beings,
And thence to move to spacious fields
Passing by portals of social, national, international sympathy,
On to the limitless Cosmic Home
To gaze with looks of wonderment,
And to serve all that lives, still or moving.
This is to know what love is.
He knows who lives it.
Love is evolution's ameliorative call
To the far-strayed sons To return to Perfection's home.
It is the call of the beauty robed ones
To worship the great Beauty.
It is the call of God
Through silent intelligences
And starburst of feelings.
Love is the Heaven Toward which the flowers, rivers, nations, atoms, creatures you and I
Are rushing by the straight path of action right,
Or winding laboriously on error's path,
All to reach haven there at last. - from: Songs of the Soul by Paramahansa Yogananda