who is my guru, my friend?

Unseen, how blooms the butterfly on desert vine,
Who tends the tall green sprout where sands align?

At dawn alone, why does the flower awake,
Who fills the buds with whispers that no eye can take?

Why do egrets’ garlands soar in skies so wide,
Blooming in shapes where only winds can glide?

Though notes and letters in endless forms may play,
The primal sound remains—Oṃ, eternal, they say.

The cosmic hum, the Brahm, how did it take its flight,
Across the vastness, turning darkness into light?

Who will tell me these secrets, to whom shall I bend?
That silent witness of all—who is my guru, my friend?

Saturday, 20/9/25 ,09:20 PM
Ajay Sardesai -Megh