Ramana

Sitting on the veranda fragrant tea at my side,
The bread is buttered. It is eight in the morning;
Looking down unseeing at the dark green paddy fields
Wave upon wave pushing their way between the red and green hills;
When another wave, the ripple of a name hits me
Between the eyes, singes a path to the heart, vibrating
RAMANA

I weep.
The tea and the paddy fields are gone.
My blurred eyes are mine no more.
My thoughts have forgotten me.
My tears remember all.

~ Johannes J. De Reede, The Mountain Path, Vol. vii, No. 2, April, 1970