And the hushed calm that follows
takes the form of a canopy —
beneath whose shade, I dwell and rest.
His unspoken words pick up
my ashen being —
Hearing which, like a phoenix,
I rise from the dead!
My Mentor’s silence as an act
of faith, I treat.
He heals my festering wounds
that pester me.
When a heap of clouds
indents my vision,
He recurves my treacherous course.
I know He protects me.
My Mentor’s silence is a dialogue
between Him and me.
When heathen crowds
pilfer solitary hours of mine...
Then, into a singed shadow I retreat...
In my cluttered life,
from time to time,
often I begin to feel lonely....
At that point....
Of distress and defeat,
My Mentor’s guiding gaze
is enough for me.
He hides His smile,
but His eyes sparkle openly.
I just feel:
He is always there for me.
My Mentor’s silence speaks to me.
1995
Geeta Chhabra
