MyKoul Never Wept Though The Blossoms Died

MyKoul never wept though the blossoms died—
He saw life stir beneath the snow, in the garden of the Lord.

Though winter steals colors from the hopeful vine,
Spring’s breath revives what lay below, in the garden of the Lord.

The sky resounds with thunder's sacred drums—
The Wedding Day is soon to show, in the garden of the Lord.

Come witness the King's feast, the lights, the rose,
The Sovereign's smile begins to glow in the garden of the Lord.

The rebel flees—the soul awakes, now whole,
Bathed in musk-scented winds that blow in the garden of the Lord.

O seeker pure, breathe deep this perfumed air—
Who says mere cotton seeds bestow in the garden of the Lord?

The earth split open, non-being gave way—
A sun of Being rose aglow in the garden of the Lord.

God’s army bloomed—roses, basil, lilies armed—
With fragrant blades, they felled the foe in the garden of the Lord.

Sweets rise unburnt from the simplest wooden pot—
Branches brim, ladles overflow in the garden of the Lord.

The blue lotus whispers to hyacinths brave:
“Now drink, defy, let valor grow in the garden of the Lord!”

Awake! Beware! Let light be your shield—
Lest Satan’s horde lay claim below in the garden of the Lord.

Be silent. Be still. Let Unity draw you near—
Alastu’s call begins to echo in the garden of the Lord.