Someone with a broom is sweeping the turmeric
Spilled by a famous woodsmen’s wife
A fearless person called it a poor man’s saffron
The queen in days of old remind it’s ekadasi, mother of spiritual life
a windy day at the asrama
when the last arati has been offered
and the thakruras have been put to bed
you might still hear Mahaprabhu chanting
Sankara Pandit sitting by his bed
Will there be any more ekadasis this month when devotees all fast?
No a look at the calendar tells us this one is the last
and the thakuras are dress in the queen in days of old
leis of small white and pink flowers that once danced with the earth
they don’t last too long but still added to the mirth
of the ekadasi celebration and all the observance is worth
to the highway where Murka spent too much time talking with friends. The lion’s park and the campa hatti saw Murka and I fly by just about as fast as possible for a couple of aging roadies. The village to the point of the hook some cruisers are there going for a non ekadasi special. Between the lakes there are sufferers looking for coats due to the chill in the wind. By the time the natasala comes and I take leave the wind has almost blown Murka and I off the street three times. Still Murka sneaks through the treacherous triangle to the redone road. Keeping the tennis park on the right he sprints to the main street. Through the hospital parking lot running away from a city bus. Drive in and a yarn shop pass by while southland takes Murka to wharf road and a quick turn around. Hearing the call of ratha-bhojana-vrksa Kalarupa makes sure Murka is there to let the ceremony begin.
Pralad-a-dad this evening. They like to dance under the stars to pass the night away until Murka comes to wake them in the morning.
Some prabhus take the ‘haribol jal’
Their dhotis creases are much sharper than ours
Their kirtas are an alert orange while ours are slowly fading fast
Still our gurdeva has the clear concept
in fact he’s the head of the Rupanuga line
conclusions from the Ramananda samvada mine
in a orange red and brown
with flowers embroidered all around
that’s the difference between the puckawalla and our gang
lies of roses, orchids and a few leaves free style
with a hint of symmetry
pedaling as quickly as possible Murka and I bow to the ratha-bhojana-vrksa and circle the southland on to the wharf road under the first highway. Going all the way to the beach and the hook of the point where an e-pedaler looks on and Murka and I get a snicker as he gets smaller in the rear view mirror. Between the lakes are people trying to warm themselves as the sun is beginning to go down and Murka and I continue toward town. At the shop I take leave and Murka goes around the Saint Dagwood park to come up behind me again. He continues on to the pedaler’s ramp and high-fives the bear. The wharf road takes him back under the first highway once again and the ratha-bhojana-vrksa beckons him back sending the kalarupa to pace him back for the sandhya where everyone is in just hoping the ceremony is about to begin.
as this week more are able to feed the deer it’s fitting that they wear the “O deer dough” nightdress this evening. They stay up a little late this evening dancing under the warm starry night.