The Masters

I have great teachers, each one more exalted, glorious than the other,
Acting like the little stick that supports a delicate flower,
From wasting away in the rain of sorrow,
Wilting in the heat of conundrum, freezing in the snow of tomorrow.
These are men and women of great stature,

A Christ without a cross, Buddha without a Bodhi, Krishna sans his flute,
Their eyes bear no judgment; every sinew of their heart breathes love,
They have trudged through the darkness and found the divine light,
As I now search for mine.
On this difficult road back home there are moments I find myself alone,
Not for long, though, If I hear long enough,
Even the cawing of a crow carries deep wisdom; the words of the greatest Master of all.

The Song of the Sufi Masroof