The Leela Foundation
Dedicated to world peace and freedom through universal self-realization

A poem by Michael

Blackbird Singing in the Dead of Night

Early in the morning
before the sun expressed itself
before blackbirds stopped singing
in the dead of night
the bells began to ring
candles on windowsills
pushed the darkness out
gently but relentlessly
and angels marveled at
this sudden illumination

Doors were flung open
the smell of apples and cinnamon
filled the early air
beckoning onlookers to enter
and feast at this table

As each in turn came in to see
a flower grew beside each step
a simple signpost bidding
all to stop and smell the borscht

The cooks were busy cooking

filling pots with fragrant herbs
flicking morsels from their fingers
to attentive balls of love
the children all akimbo
flying fearlessly with glee
as old men in suspenders
lay about with trousers loose

And love my friend abounded

painting colors in the air
bumping into one another
as the music lifted high
the roof beams of illusion
stripping useless and un-needed
complications of our fashions

Were you there upon that morning
are you wandering close by
or still a blackbird singing
in the darkened dead of night

Your wing is not so broken
you cannot learn to fly
let the early breath of morning
open up your weary heart

Leave the baggage of your journey
in the box beside the door
all you need has always been here
in the closets of your being

Leave the safety of the mother

time to fly with mighty wings
the night has ended brilliantly
in the light of truthfulness