I get to wake the Thakuras today
Please accept this service I pray
Catching up this mood each morn
Gurudeva will transform our lives
Not to die but to be reborn
In the land of dedication where service goes on
forever
look and see the Thakuras and how they are dressed
peacock feathers
red silk with blue and white seed beads
forming the eyes of the feathers
smartening up the orchid leis
I can hear the kirtan in nath mandir
Is full of cheer
Sprinting taking asirvada from
Ratha-bhojana-vrksa isn’t rascaldom
Stopping at mahamuni’s post box
Got to be fast got to beat the clock
Coming up behind is a team of mountain men
Seeing all the mud shows where they’ve been
In lion’s park a few are setting up to cook
Something they’ve read from a book
Murkha and I are going up skater’s hill
Through the village, well you know the drill
Along the beach among the sufferers joggers and geese
Weaving between them when they expect it least
At the harbor I say “farewell”
Then Murkha concentrates on the arati bell
there are names for tirthas in Bharatvarsa
radhadesa is where the Ganges disappears from view
in a similar way this dress is called baby blue
OPT dressed them this evening in his own style
Guaranteed to bring them a smile
Letting them take comfortably take rest for a little while
The pujari opened the yoga maya curtain
To reveal the arena of pure consciousness
And Nila, Aruna and Syama LIVE before all of us
Thakuras outfit sparkled
Made with care and attention
Smoothly and effortlessly dressed
Both large and small roses awakened
Tastefully arranged in leis
Winding around their forms
In the last days of summer
Murkha and I see the shadows coming
Even in the late afternoon’s light
Circling the research park
Going toward the asunder mukha
Dropping and weaving through the sufferers and cruisers
In delight of pedaling through the eyeleteer
Near bear at beach hill motel
life’s too long not to pedal
round by the sufferer thakura
and the corner to the cruiser king
I get off at the shop
Leaving Murkha to go on to continue the worship
For which he will never die
His destination changed in the blink of an eye
Following the kalarupa along the trail
Welcomed back by the cotton tails
The emerald and deep pink
Gives pause to think
Or is it red? Seamstress says I’m color blind
Entering marakatamani puri ridding a horse of different color
Sometimes she thinks I’m losing my mind
Of the day when this night dress was presented here
On a Radhastami when some folks spoke like buccaneers
Time for them to take rest it must be quite clear