THE FLAME DIVINE
By I. V. RANGACHARYA
Love is a Flame Divine
That bums in the tiny human cell
Bearing the beatific smell
Of the sanctum of an Indian Shrine.
In the small human heart
Mountains grow, Rivers flow,
Flowers flourish, Winds blow,
But on the sands of Death-desert
They become flat and dry, fade and fail;
Light travels untrammell’d alone
To its Haunts heard but not known
Smiling at those that sob and wail.