by Michael Miovic

Here where demons once
cast to die
Hiranyakipsu’s son
below Simhachalam high,

Here where Lord Vishnu
saved pure Prahlada
Where the Formless formed
as Narasimha, Here upon this verdant
rock of ages
Haunted by devas
beloved to sages,

Here let all my thoughts’
incessant motion
Cease, too, and sink
with calm devotion

Into Thee. Let not
this sandal paste
Hide immortal secrets
nor Time waste

Its precious beats
much longer;
In me its music swells
much stronger.

Now earth’s heavy drowse
My subtle senses atune
the Infinite.

From the depths of the jungle,
in my hidden heart
Cut wide a clearing
A temple start

Raise golden pillars
adorn with bangles
Revive the hard granite
that lay in angles

In narrow glens
and closed places
Open breathing vastness
and luminous spaces

Join joist and mortar
and bevelled edge
Put hands together
in prayer’s pledge

Inner, outer, high
and low rejoin
Remint earth’s clay
to celestial coin

Wreath all my knowledge
and labor’s art
Like pearls of wisdom strung
from head to heart.