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.