The flames of Love will soon engulf me
Lest i fueled it to burn bright
Comforting warmth in hues of amber
I'm a whirling moth without sight

God once asked his faithful servants
a perplexing question:
“Who will lend me a Beautiful Loan
Which I will double
And multiply many times?”

The servants looked hither and thither
and at each other in puzzlement:
“What could we possibly lend to The Creator
Of mankind and of the unseen
Of the Earth and of the Heavens
And everything in between?”

But one among them wept in tranquil delight
For he understood what was being asked:
It is the act of giving without expectation
From ones material wealth,
From ones precious time,
From ones accrued knowledge,
To alleviate the suffering of others.

Praise be to you, April, black patch of earth
All colors rise from your mysterious blackness
Lilacs of memory and desire, secretive lilies and primordial hyacinths

Praise be to you, round sun
For you have remained the same
Like the morning birds
who, among those human build ruins
still sing as in the cool valleys of origins

Praise be to you, anonymous worker of this land
Alchemist of the visible and the not visible

And to you, nameless form of unseen existence
Keeper of the premises of faith and silence
You, who have covered me with this blanket of dreams

I return to you that which I've stolen
I return to you my separated existence