Their forms define beauty
Wrapped in a wisp of silken veil and chodders
Receiving their darsana, stopped the devotees hearts and chilled the
blazing material fire
Topmost other worldly vision dressed in satin, raw silk covered with rusty flowers
They grace the altar at the asrama in fact their leis go on forever a plethora of mums punctuated by a rose or two.
Chasing down a dream bowing to the ratha-bhojana-vrksa, going where Mahamuni's post box leads. Then to the lion's park. Up the florists hill on to the wharf road and through the opal cliffs where the sufferers morph from ordinary citizens and back again like the toffee nose who hollers 'fragment' at every chance he can. At the natasala the gecko takes leave and I pass the house that taught choc-o-lot to talk-a-lot and see the whalers detail another beast and head to the redone road. The tennis park is empty and I go down the toad road to the navapatra. Passing the soccer pitch I take a left at the wharf road and sprinted all the way to the main road. Left again there breathing heavy I go through a pace line to the long and winding. There some deer scurry away and I fold my palms to the ratha-bhojana-vrksa and join the kalarupa to smile in the face of the sandhya.
Guru-Gauranga Gandharvika-Giridhari smoothly slipped from the havirbhu into their hiranyakasipu the night is a little cooler but still warm enough for them to cross through the locked door and find themselves enjoying under the moon and stars