Hide and Seek We landed in Madras, but He was nowhere to be spied—That slice of Orange Robe amidst the crowd­—We suspected that the fellow who tipped us off had lied.And we scolded him in words, harsh and loud. But he knelt and begged our pardon—­Said he couldn’t take the blame;That Swami’s plans and movementsWere a `hide and seek’ game. He sent us off to WhitefieldTo enquire for Swami thereBut warned us, this could also be,A ‘hit and miss’ affair. We caught the train to Bangalore.From there to Whitefield hied­—Then we heard He’d left for OotyAnd we very nearly died. We waited with the monkeysOutside His Whitefield House;We waited like a patient catWatching the hole of a mouse. “He’ll be back in a couple of days,” they said,“Or a week or two at most.”“He was seen in Bangalore yesterday”“Or, may be, it was the Holy Ghost.” After waiting a week, we set out for OotyAnd got there, late, the next day;We were greeted by someone snootyWho said, “Swami is in Bombay”! Disappointed, frustrated, and down at heartWe sat and bewailed our fate;When a lady kind said, Swami was back,And we could see Him at the gate. But all we saw was a dome of hairThat filled the back of the carAnd a radiant smile as He raised His HandTo us who had come so far. He’d gone off on some sudden mission­—Nobody quite knew where;But would definitely be on the 21stAt Puttaparthi for a Festival there. We headed for Andhra’s rocky wildsBy train, pony‑cart and bus;And while the wheels were turning roundMy mind was churning thus. “Even if You stood before me nowA foot away in space,I’m so annoyed, I would not deignTo look upon Your Face.” But at Puttaparthi, our fate was the same;And our luck, we did deploreAs we saw the white car drive out of the gateAnd head for God‑knows‑where. I stormed and fumed, I fretted and cried,And wished I’d stayed at home and sighed,“I’ll wait for you in my little room—­”Resplendent Lord of Parthi, please come soon.” He came to me, soon, in a Vision,With a Love greater than mine;I could scarcely bear to look at Him,His gaze was so Divine. “Through how many ages in vain,”He said, “Have I chased after this heart!But now it is mine, O Dearest One,Can anything keep it apart?” ~AnonSource: Sanathana Sarathi, June 1977

Guru [Dedicated to Sai Baba } That Light because of whichMen see the sunWhose all-Pervading PresenceNone have felt.Whose prime essentialEssence is but OnePure Consciousness whereinAll else has dwelt. Thou are that truthThat never can be told,That sweetness taste canNever hope to know,That fragrance which noFlower can unfold­I look to Thee,Myself to see—and lo! —Henry Conyers, Santa Barbara  Incarnate in Every Age Dispelling the mass of Darkness pervading the worldA Divine Effulgence illumines the land of Bharat;The resonant OM reverberates over Earth and Sky!The Avatar—Truth Goodness Beauty all in One, has come!In every heart, awakening sublime deep‑hued in dream divine!By the holy Chitravati, ever‑famed, Prasanthi Nilayam shines.Dattatreya shines resplendent Hand assuring, `Why fear!’He is indeed the Trinity in One, Divine Mother in Beauty sublime.For afflicted man, thirsting for Peace He doles out GraceOf Love Divine; His nectarine voice rings Sathyam Shivam Sundaram.Omniscient, He knows the hearts’ craving the wordless prayer of man. Bestows fulfillment no knowledge unravels, Bestows His GiftsFrom portraits we prize: nectar, sacred ash! He does create, confer.To take men back to Godward way! Sing the Glory of the LordWith hearts well-dipped in Love.Pray to the Lord of your Heart,For all names are Mine! Yearn for Me and with you, He says, I shall be in a trice.To heal your killing maladies, anoint body mind and soul with holiness.Far or near, you are Mine, He says, And I am yours!My Love shall repair, heal and save, for I’ve come for youAs I have come in every age, says—The emblem of Infinite Love!Showering Grace, Grace and more Grace on all who want and all who can’tCome, then, kinsmen of the world! Let us Bask in the Sathya Sai Sun!Let us dip in the Sathya Sai Ganga!Unafraid, let us take refuge At His Lotus Feet! —Padmasri Sri Nalinabala Devi(Translated from Assamese, by Muktinath Bardoloi, Shillong) I, pure and simple, is different from I identified with the Bodyor Subtle Body or Body imagined in Dream Life.This pure and simple I, unidentified with anything, is God.This pure and simple I is `incessant awareness’. —BabaSource: Sanathana Sarathi, Aug. 1971

Soar Like a Lark We totter and grope in the darkIn the mire of ignorance; we flounder,Instead of soaring like a lark! Come, arise, awake, falter not,For, He is here; why fear? He is so near!Tune up the heart; cleanse the mind;Brush the cobwebs away.The grace, ever-present, doth flow—­O, take it in, my thirsty friend.We can hear the flute of the Lord; Why care for lesser joys?Let the Lotus bloom;Dance, O Dance to the music of His Name.The Name so fragrant, sweet, and pure;From millions of tongues, It echoes soft,From millions of hearts its pulse-beats rise. O the Glory and the EcstasyHis Name can bring!! —Dr. Keki M. Mistry, D. S. M. S.F.C.D, BombaySource: Sanathana Sarathi, Oct. 1967

Sing the Glory Here comes the Morning Star! The day intends to dawn!Awake from deep slumber and sing with birds the song!The World is Paradise now since Sathya Sai has come!Redeemed is all mankind, from sin sorrow and pain. He came in every age, and conferred man courage;Let us listen to His voice! It frees, fulfils.O God has come again, to lead and liberate!His boundless Love does bring Him down to bless. You and I are graced; we breathe the air He breathesWe behold; we can hold, His voice in happy ears,We Learn what He teaches; we strive to walkThe Path he trails, to the Goal He sets. Beside us, our Guide. He ever resides!Call on Him ‘Sai’! He is seen in a trice!Act as He asks, He reacts quick!His charm you can see in flower gem and wing! His Love is the sky under which we live!His Power is the wheel that moves our blood.His Wisdom sustains the Universe from age to age!His Grace is the treasure we must acquire.       ~Vivian JosephSource: Sanathana Sarathi, Oct. 1971

Baba the Sun–Baba the Moon Baba the Sun Through the royal bannerOf the rising sun,Sink forever.the fathomless ocean eye,Tumble downTo the garden beyond.Rise;To the garden here.Hidden holiness revealed,In every drop of rain,In every drop of life.See the throbPeacefully pacing;The rumbling rolling riverFruitfully flowing;From blossom to blossom,From sea to sea.The enlightened eyeSees all souls. —Anthony, Malta Baba the Moon A quiet breezeRustles the leaves.Clouds scatterRevealing the purityOf the moon:An eyeIn the sky.Hanging;Watching;Filling the earthWith waters of love.Floating;Dancing;Like white butterfly fingersOver sitar strings,He harmonizes man. —Anthony MaltaSource: Sanathana Sarathi, March 1971

This is the Face, I shall always See O, God! Into your precious Presence, I comeHoping I am sufficiently humbledAnd worthy to be at Your FeetTo bask in Your Radiance and earn Your Grace. I already have Your Love, for I am Your child,Your image incarnate,And I await the momentOf complete Union with Thee, in all dimensions,That I may serve You more completely. I am the breath of Your Breath;The Light of Your Eye;I am the sum‑total of all your dreams for meThough not yet totally fulfilledTotally aware, totally consumed by the Flame,Yet, I know, the moment approaches—­When I stand before you naked in the Flame,For the moment of total fusionWith Your Divine EnergiesWith Your Divine Self. O Sweet Lord, beckon me to come to YouThat I may sit at Your FeetAnd breathe Your FragranceAnd hear Your Words, and know Ecstasy… O Sweet Lord, Emit the thought DivineThat will bring me into Your PresenceEven as You are always in mine.O Sweet Lord, make me an Instrument of Thy LoveThat I may more ably serve You.O Sweet Lord, into the essence of matterYou cast me in Your ImageAnd so I formed, time and time again. Honed on the stone of Life, to a fine edge,Molded by tides of ego like fine clayTo emerge—in Your Time, in Your Presence­—A rare jewel, a fine porcelain,That I may grace Your Being,And be exceedingly pleasing to You.O Sweet Lord—thank You, Thank you, Thank you. At the Foot of the Lotus, I take my placeAnd looking up I see Your Face.From this moment on, for all of me,This is the Face I shall always see.The eyes with which you look into mineReinforces my life Divine.And, Oh, the smile upon Your LipPuts me firmly into Your grip.If this is all I’ll ever seeThen, let it be, Lord, let it BE.For though I smile and laugh and jestWithin the Sight of You is best! I close the petals of this flowerFor it has known its final hour.When next I bloom, with blossom bright,I’ll radiate within Your Light. ~Dawn Godes, San Bernardino, CA, USASource: Sanathana Sarathi, Feb. 1979

The Moving Finger Writes The moving finger writes— The fingers that play the flute in every human frame— The moving finger writes The history of Time and Space. The moving finger writes The destiny of man. They write, they draw, they wave, they twirl They rise and fall, full circle or arc or curve In playful lilt or sport; but, meaningful most Marking time, all the time, though time is but a wink And space, a span In Baba’s Mighty Move. What do they do, these light and lovely digits of the Lord These active agents of Grace and Godly Majesty? They rise— As they rose to raise a peak against the flood Let loose on man by a jealous god— They rise … and they stop a flood! The onward marching troops of alien brood Go reeling back, over the range of peaks! They wave, They pass smooth over a tormented brow, a tortured mind They have the Lotus petal touch (The fingers held the Lotus once) They rise in a sweep And scatter the surging clouds. (They wielded the Chakra once.) The inner foes of someone He blesses Do flee when the fingers rise to warn; Those fingers domesticate the brutal throng. The moving fingers write an undeciphered script And, somewhere on this earth, tragedy becomes a tale of joy. A mother gets news of long-lost son; a father learns his son is good; The moving finger writes Some Sadhak He seeks to bless Sits up; and reads the symbol Om He bows, he knows; his daze, his doubt, what name to rear In the nursery of his heart is gone. The Om he got when he wrote it here, is to him the only hymn. The finger comes down quick, you are puzzled when you see! But a monk is hit in a far-off place Straight on the back of his head! He has slept the sleep of tired search In lanes of labyrinth libraries He wakes; he sees His Heavenly Form; He asks; is answered He is blessed by that blow. The fingers jerk­— The same little jerk that broke the bridal bow The same little jerk that swished the whip on fiery battle steeds—­ The fingers make a jerk … but, now In far off Jammu vale a poison cup is snatched from desperate hold A loaded rod of death is shifted quick A life revived with tonic touch. Those fingers draw an arc—a tiny arc, on air, from where He is And, lo, a scientist lost in the maze of doubt in Ankara, or Prague perhaps (is it Ankara?) Sees the arc in a flash …ah, just the thing, the size! He uses it to fill the diagram gap…and he wins. He earns both name and fame. The fingers turn, not just a turn; all turns are good When he turns them so. For he is Mercy come as Man. The fingers turn, they turn the scales To favor simple faith, To favor repentant hearts, yearning minds. They draw, they draw lines and curves and squares on sand! And, lo, along the lines, the sand is changed to sweetness, fragrance, holiness. The fingers come down in a curve And, mark! A spaceship, rocket with two aboard Drops safe on earth, right on spot! The fingers come down in a curve—and mark, Auspicious things are scattered everywhere For all who earn His Grace! The finger rises a tiny height. That instant, the ancient Linga of a shrine Is rich with his picture, inside the stony sanctity A tiny height, for all to see for ever more. The fingers twirl and turn around And all the spheres and stars obey They move around so smooth, in ordained orbits true, They calm the flood, they scotch the flame; They direct the pilot over the Rockies peaks To the spot where the wreckage lay. They rise! The two fingers are wide apart and swing, They wave in rhythmic melody That and this, you and He, inner outer, Knower Known Both of the self-same Hand. The fingers doodle in the air But, he is doodling on your heart And, as the lines run round The heart becomes the seat of Beauty, Truth and Bliss. Every line is a direction which reveals The destination we miss. The moving finger writes the history of Time and Space The moving finger writes The Destiny of Man. ~N. Kasturi Kavisammelan 22-10–66

Let me Soar to Thee! Thou art the essence of Love, O Lord;I felt Thy Touch of Love; and the desert of my heartIs now a lake of lotus blooms for Thee. I felt the fragrant breath of Love in my soulAnd, my blinded eyes turned within.I saw a world of joy and loveA world made wise by Thy wisdom, a world of the Real. Then, did I know what Love hath made of me,Hath willed that I should be.O Bestower of Love, Thou art in my heartBut, unknown till now,Till by a touch of pain and miseryI struggled; and my hand brushedAgainst Thy orange robe, Thy lotus Feet;Thrilled and amazed, I looked into Thine eyesAnd knew that Thou art, hast been,Ever must beIn my heart, as Love. I knowThy Love is ever flowing into me,My hand ever receiving Thy Grace. Let me have it, O Lord, forever,Quaff of its nectar, till I burst with joyAnd my life is molten gold.Mounted on Love’s white wings let me riseAnd soar to Thee. O’ Clothe me in Thy Truth, sublime!Let me abide in its shade, till the end of Time ~V. Sathasivam, ColomboSource: Sanathana Sarathi, March 1968

The Voice of the Heart There is no fear while He is so near;Still, my eyes are filled with tears!O—they are tears of joy, not grief. Sometimes it looks as if He does not glance at meBut, no it is a gesture of grace and care!Even the absence of the glance. From today, I shall have no despair,No trace of frustrationI bid good-bye to grief. Like a fresh-blown roseIn whose lap there smiles the charming spring,In His shimmering Robe,His Robe—the banner of peace—!The air is rich with fragranceAnd joy. The world is fairer farWith a new brilliance of color. O Comrades! With what shall I compare Him,I pray. The full moon is dim—Before His dazzling face.In His lotus palm, there is the healing balmFor all the burns of life.Do you adore the Formless in the Form?—­Question the disputants, but leave aloneThe dispute; I am already prey. How I long to behold the charmImbibe and fill, recall, meditateThrough all the days of life—­Alas, Tahira, do you realizeThat life is too short for this? ~Urdu Original recited at Kavisammelanby Bano Tahira Sayeed; Dasara, 1966Source: Sanathana Sarathi, December 1966

A Petal in the Lotus I am a petal in the lotus of Baba’s Grace; I am a drop in the Ocean of Baba’s Compassion; I am a flower in the beautiful Baba’s Garland; I am a star in the firmament of Baba’s heart; I am a silken thread in glowing Baba’s pitambar; I am a flaming camphor on the altar of Baba’s Temple; I am a humble blade of grass in Baba’ s green garden; I am a ray, issuing out of Baba’s radiant effulgence, I am a dust clinking to Baba’s fragrant Feet, I am a breath, embodied out of Baba’s Glory. —K. Vaidyanathan