English poem–Bansuri Dreams

(Inspired by a song of John Wubbenhorst)


The dream of the Bansuri sets the scene of my favorite place.

On a small hill-top, its elevation paved with concrete, I wait for a call.

A call that will summon me to a grand hall where white marble separates the black one (the one on which I am scheduled to sit) and where the glimpse of God is granted: A moment when you look upon your own perfect self; a moment when you see your own real image though there is no mirror to reflect.

On that hill-top, I hear the heart-rending sound of the flute, and slowly start my descent towards the hall. I am conscious of my foot-steps as I don’t want to disturb the ambience of perfect stillness.

Instead of barging in and impatiently wait for my master to come floating on the white marble, I decide to have a sneak-peak in the hall to check the content.

As I hide myself behind the pillar of the grand gate and try to steal a peep, I sense a strange presence behind me.

It’s my master. He smiles and conveys the blessings through unspoken words. The flute has started singing melodiously from an unknown location.

My master gestures as if to ask:

“Why you take hesitant baby-steps while you approach me? Don’t take so long to reach me—rush hard and come and rest in my lap. I am your mother, I will not forsake you. Though you want to establish a system of sitting in this hall to wait for me, I move alongside you, unseen and unnoticed. I am there where you are; I am there where you want to be. I am the one who separated you from myself; I am the one to whom you shall return!”



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