Lit From Within by Ruth Lewarne

Lit From Within

These poems mostly obey the old rules: they rhyme, they scan, Most of them are Shakespearean style sonnets. they are in iambic pentameter, and rhyme.Those that are longer are also in iambic pentameter, relationship with the Divine within.The subject of the collection is the nature of the soul's Who can do justice to that?
None of us, not really,
But I thought I'd try.'

by Ruth Lewarne

Introduction

I was moved to write these poems to celebrate my 40 years as a student of Prem Rawat, occasionally known as Maharaji, to whom I owe a debt of gratitude that I could never repay - not that I need to. He showed me the source of Love and the means to experience it, which he calls 'receiving Knowledge', and I have practised going within and enjoying the fruit of this Knowledge most of my life.

I wanted to use the most famous form used by our great poets in Europe, the sonnet, since wonderful poetry from the East on this subject, like that of Rumi, Omar Khayyam and Kabir has to be translated from the original language into English.

There are excellent translations of these poets' work, and one can even buy multiple translations to get a full flavour of what is being said. But some are literal, and some take extraordinary liberties with the original (see Fitzgerald's Khayyam compared to Avery/Heath-Stubbs.) 

Sometimes the original is so powerful that versions may stray far from the text and yet remain profound works of art. The thought behind them transcends barriers of language.

It is clear that some of the great poets and writers of scripture were fortunate enough to be students of teachers who connected them to the world within. My teacher deserves similarly gifted poets to sing his praises. I do not lay claim to ability of that kind, and if any of my poetry pleases, it is with the help and inspiration of Prem Rawat.

 Sample...

Star

You are

Like the heartbeat of a huge star

Like a thousand silent lightning flashes

Like  a wind through heaven

Carrying light

On pulsing waves of stillness

Like night

Soft footed, slow

Like fullness

Like the quietness of breath

Like a journey towards home

Where there is peace

Where the traveller rests

And there is no time

No ticking clock

No ending

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