O Hari, the crescent moon is your eyebrow,
The Milky Way your private walk.
Spring and autumn are your royal chambers,
The polar regions your resting places.
The full moon is your pendant,
And the cluster of Seven Sisters a brooch on your breast.
The Himalayas proclaim your glory,
The starry heavens publish your peace.
The storms are your messengers;
Death is your telegram bearer.

The universes dwell in you as a twinkle in a star.
The rising sun brings us your light
And the darkness is rolled back like a carpet.
Majestic Rama, we are your manifestations
And our only duty is to know you as our being
And adore your semblance as the Creator of the inner and outer worlds.

With a splash of the rose-water of detachment,
Open our eyes to your glory
And awaken our infatuated hearts to your wisdom.
Be to our hearts what an oasis is to a traveller in the Sahara.
Cure us of the myopia of love and hate,
Of the deformity of love of pleasure.

Sprinkle the perfume of your compassion on our hearts
And lift up our souls to your infinite Beauty, within and without,
To a vital sense of unity and harmony, to the crying need of contemplation of your essence as our Self.

Eternal Sun, sweep away by your rays of enlightenment
The dew drops of our ambitions, exclusiveness and narrowness,
Which mar the tranquillity of the spring of our minds.
Soothe our mercurial hearts with the vernal heat and breezes of your devotion.
Majestic Mayavi (magician), lift up your magic wand of 'That Thou Art'
And calm the storm of duality in the heart of all.
May they see the One-without-a-second in the many
And enjoy the dawn of Knowledge-Devotion as brethren,
Helping, serving, suffering. OM.

H.P.S.