I do not create your poetry. I read the Angels that your mouth creates, the Seraphim that emerge from your beautiful lips and who ride in Merkavah of your whispers in the Divine Chariot of your moans, the delight of my Awakening. Your body is the Sacred Field, seeded with bright grains that bloom bright Lotus. A stellar river flows from your esoteric garden and watering the shine of my soul. I’m Awake, and it was the angelic poetry that prophesied your beautiful lips that aroused me. I am your Buddha now, the Bodsattva of your wisdom, the guardian of codices whispering your mouth.*

Esotérika - The Mystic ****** Poetry by Deepak Sankara Veda