I reminisce about the past
When saints spread their hue
The very ground they trod upon
Shone like the morning dew

As angels from the Promised Land
Their mission was never new
Just to make man a hu-man
And then to continue with their rue

Though ordinary looking in ordinary apparel
There was nothing they did not know
For those with eyes and ears
Their aura was visibly aglow

As Masters of the Inward and Outward
Humanity’s goal they stressed upon
The immaculate coat of sacred silence
One and all they urged to don

Yesteryear is what I now wish for
As the halcyon tide is no more
But isn’t today tomorrow’s past?
Won’t the sea, again, reach the shore?

Is linear history a material invention?
And spiritual plane always the same?
The seed, birth and tomorrow’s flowering
Isn’t the cosmic trio a divine game?

How can I see today’s adept?
On par with yesterday’s saint
Render priceless a mere canvas
Without introducing any paint?

I must find the precious pearl
That will help me acquire wings
To soar to the highest sky
By selling it to the King