The Prayer

Once have I heard some strain so sweet,
Of tongue known not, to ears of men.
Some tales where life and lore may meet.
A whisper, unknown from where or when.
That keeps on saying;
“Come back to me…
Come back to me..”
It sways and wavers now and then.

A whisper’s born within a barren heart,
From whence all sonorous notes have fled.
The teachings of the wise it may impart,
Though times are ill and the wise are dead,
But it keeps on saying;
“Come back to me…
Come back to me…
Remember once we were to wed…”

Here so gently, the whisper does rove
beyond a thousand worlds and realms.
My soul’s no more a morning dove;
A fleet with rusty rudders and feeble helms.
But the whisper’s caressingly gently says;
“Come back to me…
Come back to me…
Let go of all what overwhelms.”

& to my senses, It turned out a haven,
of loving warmth and cozy gleam;
A chance of valour to a wistful craven,
A chance of Life in a lucid dream,
That kept on saying;
“Come back to me…
Come back to me…
You’ll only heed me if you deem.”

The whisper’s my lone answer as I yearn,
As I long for the unlonged-for,
As I dwell as austere…as stern,
Still, can’t I raise the days of yore.
But all I get was what it said;
“Come back to me…
Come back to me…
I lay some when before our war.”

I looked beneath the gore and gutter.
In deep… Indeed! I paid no heed
To words inwards, no tongue can utter.
In deep… No longer I stampede,
In deep the whisper grew to say;
“Come back to me…
Come back to me…
What can a litany do without a creed?!”

Relieved. I knew the voice was true.
What you reckon as dark in deep does glare.
What you must seek is always you.
For you’re the antecedent and heir.
You’ll always find you saying back;
“Come back to me…
Come back to me…
We’re one. You see, the prayer and the prayer.”


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