Friday, March 9, 2012

Krishnamurti

My teacher is simple,
Undistorted and brilliant
Stemming from freedom and blossoming in love..

Ever probing, ever silent.
Taking refuge in his doubts,
Seeing the sacred in the absurd..

And he sings his song..
His own song-indeed.
Unchained and tremendous..

A flower this gentle, and how it blossoms..
A being so complete, a song as sweet.
Unscarred and we question..

Together we probe-brothers in arms..

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