Poetry Archive

Baba the Sun Through the royal banner Of the rising sun, Sink forever. the fathomless ocean eye, Tumble down To the garden beyond. Rise; To the garden here. Hidden holiness revealed, In every drop

Here comes the Morning Star! The day intends to dawn! Awake from deep slumber and sing with birds the song! The World is Paradise now since Sathya Sai has come! Redeemed is all mankind,

We totter and grope in the dark In the mire of ignorance; we flounder, Instead of soaring like a lark! Come, arise, awake, falter not, For, He is here; why fear? He is so

That Light because of which Men see the sun Whose all-Pervading Presence None have felt. Whose prime essential Essence is but One Pure Consciousness wherein All else has dwelt. Thou are that truth That

We landed in Madras, but He was nowhere to be spied— That slice of Orange Robe amidst the crowd­— We suspected that the fellow who tipped us off had lied. And we scolded him

I saw A Man… His Voice was sweet, like Nectar, (When it flows!) And, when He spoke, the words fell, soft, Like dew‑drops on a Rose; His step was firm where’er He walked… His

In the darkness of the misty morn Rise silent prayers from a waiting crowd, Each, in the solitude of his own thoughts, Waits and watches. The sun hath not risen yet, The mist still

In Dharmakshetra… Kurukshetra Arjuna had a Sarathi! He was such a master Sarathi That He won the war for him! He held the reins of all the horses He helped his arrows to find

There is a wise gardener: Hair of early morning spider’s webs. Skin of rainbow dewdrops. Hands of sun‑kissed butterfly wings. Eyes of newborn suns. Limbs of love, Nose of rose. Heart of the singing

Before I had the luck or as I see it now Your Mercy came down on me like the star‑light penetrating through the encircling gloom I little knew what form to meditate. The gods

Our wonderful Lord is so great There is none whom He will hate By following Him, we His children Shall surely prosper in life’s long run. His powers are so great His word makes

1. The Hills of Puttaparthi Grey, rugged, stately, they stand, timeless, and serene: The morning sun turns them into a slate-blue wall, And in the soft rays of the setting sun, they glow With