Path towards the Moksha
Beautiful Judean desert rose, inspiring muse poets gods of Olympus. In your divine immortality, you were Indian goddess of the aurora borealis. And in the eightfold , you were a rose petal passion, between Sanskrit mantras metal, between rebills of awake soles.
And your essence lay sleeping, between faint and subtle harmonies heavenly, relaxing music between ulular strangers. As hyaline chrysalis, iridescent butterflies, you rested between beds thin sheets of rain, between calm waters, between soft silks velvet satin.
You hugged the spirit of the neem tree sacred to purify your inner atman of intense clinging, attachment, pride, hatred and desire.
In your ineffable universe, you transmuted warm breezes winds, fires burning violet dreams. You transfers your awareness to a golden heron, a silver swan, in the morning light Garden of Eden.
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