Thursday, July 4, 2013



I have dusted shelves and tables,
I have swept and mopped the floors.
I have cleared away the cobwebs
On the ceiling, by the doors.

I have cleaned the greasy kitchen.
And the bathroom, how it shines...
I've cooked and set the table,
Lit the candles, opened wines...

But the guest that I've awaited
Hasn't rung the doorbell yet.
I've been feeling rather anxious...
It is late... Did she forget?

But the place is looking better
Than it's been, for quite a while...
And I've company for dinner –
A little roach, at whom I smile...

2013 July 4th, Thurs.

 Note:  This may have been sparked by a
recollection of a poem by Robi Thakur
(Rabindranath Tagore), in which the poet
writes of waiting for his guest, in a room 
that has been swept clean in expectation.

This was probably meant to be an allegory,
with the sweeping of the room representing
the clearing out of clutter and distractions
from the body-mind-soul, and the guest
being none other than the Divine. Of course,
all that the poet can do is wait for that guest,
who may or may not come...

Attempting, perhaps, to recast this dimly
remembered piece (perhaps from Tagore's
Gitanjali) in a modern, urban context, I was
led, by the vagaries and dictates of rhyme and
meter, to candles and wines, neither of which
have ever been part of my dinner preparations...

And into that inner realm there came also that
little being that, for all I know, is as connected
to the divine as any other... and so may be as
good a stand-in as any other for that uncertain

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