Whether knowingly or not, all pursue the light.
Groping, stumbling, our eyes shut, we move through the light.
Creation’s vibration, the word, the wind, the AUM
manifesting one: the cosmic sound, and two: the light.
Around a black hole, space missionaries prepare
a daring expedition to rescue the light.
Though the sun shines equally on good and evil,
ubiquity can never devalue the light.
Morning breaks, in blazing glory, at 2 AM,
illuminating the one who miscued the light.
Dark ignorance can’t be beaten out with a stick,
but vanishes when you bring, O Guru, the light.
My eyes are closed, my spine straight, heart calm and mind still.
Then I see, golden and silver on blue, the light.
Our art is a witness to our aspirations,
thus, Tandava offers this poem into the Light.