Having tasted the ambrosia,
The cold bliss welled up,
It became more and more dense,
From heart to arms to head to legs to toe
It’s like body freezing with bliss,
The mystic fire burns cold,
This is the love of the graceful light in the golden hall,
Only if it was my last song,
Only if I had to sing no more.
Earlier : had I been told about my good fortune– I would have been jubilant, triumphant or just content.
Now having seen colors of bliss,
Its deepening and deepening but
The pit just around the corner;
I want to move over as soon as possible,
I have had experience of many lifetimes, perhaps countless lifetimes.