The Mayapur moon melts into day,
trailing soft white mists
whose edges burn as the day rises
from the green waters of Jalangi.
The moist air settles, softening
the earth that cradles bare feet,
cool and soothing.
Temple bells ring; Madhava calls,
His graceful form swathed in
golden silk…the color of compassion,
the color of Caitanya . . .
Dusk arrives; the hot sun sinks
into Ganga's waiting arms,
her cool waters embracing,
Giving relief, shelter . . .
A city of love rising from
the sacred earth
each brick, each stone,
each heart, melting
with Gaura bhakti . . .
Obeisances, Sri Mayapur Dhama . . .