Karen Wyatt Martin

Aditya

Cradled in the curve of your look,

I know the divinity

of a handful of moist earth,

the perfection of uncarved wood,

the graceful yielding of a stalk of grass.

It is then that I often weep,

for human flesh cannot endure

too much reality.

 

Aditya hridayam punyam, sarva shatru bina shanam.

(When the sun is kept in the heart, all evil vanishes from life.)

 

In these moments,

you come to me,

carrying the sun in your hand.

 

Aditya hridayam punyam, sarva shatru bina shanam.

 

Unquestioning,

you offer me the sun

and the wisdom

of unpolished stones.

In your presence,

I know my timelessness.

Centered in my simplicity,

I gather the universe into my look.

I move with the flow of sand.

 

Aditya hridayam punyam, sarva shatru bina shanam.

 

I slept a dreamless winter sleep

until you came. The pool was clouded.

And now,

I no longer brush dead leaves

from the surface of the pool

for there are no leaves.

There is only the pool—

still,

receptive

in its meditation,

the place where the god dreams.

 

Aditya hridayam punyam, sarva shatru bina shanam.

 

Through his look, I perceive the secret of transformations.

Shiva dances

while the manifestations

rise and fall

and return to the source

and the sun perpetuates the mystery

in which we move.

 

Aditya hridayam punyam, sarva shatru bina shanam.

Copyright 2020 by Phosphene Publishing Company

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