Confessions of a sanmarkee…
Oh! my Master,
Solemnly affirming
Sincerely stating under oath
I am consciously aware;
Chanting before doors closed
Arut Perunjothi maha mantra
Dispelled my fears of destiny;
But before the opened doors
Like a flag without a mast
I am folded in emptiness
In all my prostrations.
Oh! my Master,
Trampled in a temporal weather
I am tossed like withering leaves;
Veils of variety still hang around
My mind yoked in earthly ambitions;
Somebody whispers in my ears,
Sanmarkee not known by his dress
But by his truthfulness always,
In thoughts, words and deeds;
Waters of Satya Gnana Sabai
Wash away the guilt in my ego.
Oh! my Master,
Sanmarkee lives not as a person
Introspecting in meditation ever,
Absorbed in the light resplendent
Between his eyes in locked brows;
Sanmarkee, a person radiating
Chastity in charity of compassion,
In thoughts, words and deeds;
With the lamp in Siddhi Valagam
I still wander in my walks of life
Between carnal in the carnage.
.
Oh! my Master,
Sanmarkee shall know
Soul lived in many bodies,
Many bodies in the future;
Whether one is rich or poor,
Experience of soul counts.
I am cleaning my past karma
In many a method of yoga,
I am not creating my future
With the bricks of freedom;
My path remains unaltered
In an abject adulteration.
Oh! my Master,
Sanmarkee is not a person
Who simply reads and recites,
Translates, quotes and argues
Sings, teaches and lectures;
But one who lives by principles
Primordial in the annals of Justice.
Like the tireless waves of ocean
My desires wet sands on shore;
I am unable to positively answer
Questions of the King of Justice
In "Manumurai" in the negative.
Oh! my Master,
Illuminated in discrimination
My delusion injures the innocent;
Leaving behind caste and creed
I have not walked to the beyond;
Withering with withered vegetation
I am yet to leave land of falsehood,
I have not paid back my debts I owe,
I drink their sweat, suck their blood
I am not a lotus eater in bliss;
But a human flesh eater
In all the senses accepted.
Oh! my Master,
I am wakeful ever in passion
I am alone in my possession
I am hungry for fame always
I am not a compass of truth;
Degrees behind my name
Longer than the winding Nile
But the degree of living never
Meaningful than an illiterate;
How to needle the compass
Other than to North?
Oh! my Master,
Back in my land of birth
With all the color of money
Even a handful of grain,
A luxury to my descendants;
Planting a seed of one by one
Provides for many a mouthful;
If all cross the ocean to earn
Casting away the plough to rust
Where is the promise of cure
For the disease of hunger?
Oh! my Master,
Sanmarkkam is a jewel of truth
It is a jewel for the living
I am not wearing the jewel;
It is in the locker of my coffin
My case not yet listed for hearing
Even if it is delayed for births
Will it ever be heard to all?
In patience, I am laid to rest
Will I ever rise from the dead
Or wander around my grave
As a corpse clad in funeral robes?
Will there be a judgment?
Written on behalf of the sanmarkee within in me.
sivajayakumar
--
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