Until the mastery of the sacred
breathes peace into the moving
His matted dreads will always
deconstruct
to reconstruct
There is no danger
All seasons are laden with Her flowers
So smell Her sweet nectar
While taking your seat on the petals of a thousand
and ride the luminous waves of Her molten silver
Bequeath your smile in two and three
Trust in the identical
Misgivings is but a dream of the past, Satachitananda is beyond
You are the new age of the Dawned
SitaraAlaknandaShakti (c)
