A climbing ray
builds up.
I see His face —
the cathedral of all my hopes.

He gives my silted-self,
A finer verge.
Courage. Faith. Vigour.
I return to my possessions — my lost goals.

The Tree of Life is no more —
a persistent dark bark.
Light is substantial, crown in hand:
I am roused by His blessed glow.

1993

Geeta Chhabra