The Harrow

Harrow, with which the fields are ploughed, is a symbol of toil. Here the toil is of the paving of fields so that the metaphorical seeds of humanity can be sown. So the harrow is like a messenger, and the field is all creation. When apocalypse comes, the beings will realise their minuteness in this unfathomable world of God. They will then be like a rafter (a flock of turkeys) and the harrow will become a herder.

The Harrow (or The Instrument of God)

On the just road of life
A few people do walk
Few people do survive
But even lesser to talk

These boulders are  too big
These fields are too narrow
How  can I ever pass them?
Asked the troubled harrow

The world has gone astray
Can my wisdom do it good?
The vile gets the game now
While wise gets the worst

And so said The Supreme

The fields may be too narrow
These boulders may be giants
Still go through them harrow
Shine wisdom on these blinds

The harrow spoke

These people know it all
They deem themselves wise
They are empty of wisdom
They are but full of pride

Even if I shine unto them
The riches of my knowledge
What good will it then do
They will make of it a porridge

I am not so wise me God
And I am as blind as a stone
How can I give them eyes
When they have their own

Thereafter Supreme smiled

If so is, then be silent harrow
And let them speak the scorn
Let the shining be the warning
Let the warning be the storm

I will be in silence morrow
And thus will I the day after
Before the upcoming storm
When helter-skelter is rafter

The harrow now closed his eyes
For beings their kingdom done
The barons are all long dead
But the harrows come undone


Who art thou to part this babe from her mother’s milk
And this poor child, to whom even the bark feels silk
Who art thou to take pride in shattering the many few
Of whom the world is naught but only a window’s view
Pride; horde; crowd; swarm; school; group; troop
All together, liveth, dieth, stitched in the infinite loop
All hopeth to go meet the supreme and leave this circle
Of endless cycles, of utter chaos, endless, never ending

Of all the senses, I am the real one. Of all Them, I am.
Of all Those, I am. Yous must dare not bewilder them with names
Touch me with faith and yous will be touched by The most Divine
Please me, have me enjoy, and yous in turn shall enjoy
Take me to your heart, where lies thy eternal joy
Krsn, Krsn, Krsn until the name becometh the meaning
And a name becometh a meaning and The Meaning becomest The Name.



As the Rain falls from clouds and soaked all of the plain
It hoped to know whether she had been crying again
Years now Rain had seen that lovely girl grow and glow
To Her surprise this day her tears were making a row
Falling faster than the Rain could ever do the show

When she is morose it seemed the sky would cry
As the Rain would follow like teardrops from the sky
Why do you cry my lovely one? Asked the Rain
her lovely said my heart is hurt and now it pains
As if a hand squeezed it yet this love I have I can’t feign

Is it broken my dear? The Rain asked
Her dear replied — equivalent o’ glass shattered to shards
Is it a man who did this dear? The Rain enquired
Yes it is but he did no wrong: she said with pride
In her sad eyes the Rain saw love — pure and right

A man she loved with all heart and he loved her back
her eyes seem as she had seen a ghost, she sat aback!
And the Rain pondered the day: a man covered in white
Who was well poised with a charming manner in might
Was the same man who was her heart’s delight

What bothers the Rain now is her lovely girl
Would make not merry and shall not twirl
Sit all day look at sky but seek no love and be not fain
In rain and draught she danced and laughed and claim
her love of life but to her; all now seems to be in vain


9th poem from To the Creator of it all.

Image taken from Pixabay.