Grave brother of the burning sands,
Whose eyes enshrine forever
The desert's soul, are you not worn
Of gazing outward to dim strands
Of stars that weary never?
Infinity no answer has
For Time's untold distresses.
Its deepest maze of mystery
Is but Illusion built up as
The blind build skies — with guesses.
Nor has Eternity a place
On any starry summit.
The winds of Death are wide as Life,
And leave no world untouched — but race,
And soon with Night benumb it.
And Karma is the law of soul
And star — yea, of all Being.
And from it but one way there is.
Retreat into that trancèd Whole —
Which is not Sight nor Seeing;
Which is not Mind nor Mindlessness,
Nor Deed nor driven Doer,
Nor Want nor Wasting of Desire;
But only that which won can bless;
And of all else is pure.
Turn then your eyes from the far track
Of worlds, and gazing inward,
O brother, fare where Life has come,
Yea, into its far Whence fare back.
All other ways are sinward.