Monsoon Mist
Elizabeth Wilson

The sculling clouds
splatter droplets
of rain
upon Radharani's
bright eyed lotus face
smearing Her features
with wet kajal.

She is naturally abashed
that flute playing
Govinda
is dancing with the shakhi
Sudevi
whose silver ankle bells
jingle
in the morning's
monsoon mist.

"Come, Radika bai,"
that
tribhanga boy
calls
as His lotus feet
press upon
the greening creepers
of the forest floor
of Vraja.

Jealous
radiant drenched Radhika
springs
to Her Kanai's arms
while
Sudevi's kartals
tinkling
clang
to announce the pre dawn's
love tryst.
She signals
the other shahkis
that
the Lord of the world
their heart's flame
will
dance awake
the dawn
as Krishna
swirls
Srimati Radharani
in His lotus arms
enfolding Her
passionately
as They dance in
Monsoon Mist.

The Dance
Bill Simpson

The gentle zephyr brushes against the willow branch,

It drifts in waltzing motion to the thrill.

The ocean tide rolls and slides onto the shore,

Glistening in its reflected joy.

The cloud imperceptibly transforms its multi-dimensional halo of light,

Entrancing the souls of children and dreamers.

The motherly dove fluttering to build her spring nest,

Cooing the mysterious music of birth.

The throbbing heart of the expectant lover,

Hovering in eager longing for the appearance of her delayed beloved.

The elderly woman, body worn and consumed by years of toil

Shuffles toward Bethlehem embodied in her tousled bed.

The scuttling frantic thoughts of a fearful youth trapped in turmoil,

Ensnared outside his reason and wisdom, running away from his self respect.

All these tremulous waves of expanding motion,

Whirling, trembling, wandering, writhing, drifting.

All shadows of Your intricate weaving dance,

Lightly moving to the music of ecstasy.

This is from a book entitled From The Path Verses On The Mystic Journey,
for sale on the Conscious Living Foundation web site.