A Devotee's Conviction Poem by Subrata Ray

A Devotee's Conviction.
The Release.
So it be
All but He
The source of love and life
Cries, cries the vagabond,
More of a deserted waif.
The damsel-widow,
From her spring-flourished prime,
Waits and whines, and waits,
Time wheels on Years and age to age.
Other than the visual shadows,
The bubbling streams, sky, oceans and meadows,
The quanta-bedecked image of the Prince,
Often in her vision peeps as whirlwind.
So it was, she felt His touch,
And the treasure of His impression sways all,
Within her conscience,
He remains genuine,
And without in all His posts He Marches.
No ‘why’ seconded by negation,
Never, never, never, can be,
For, the vagabond knows,
There is none but He.