Counting beads,
A simple act,
Movement in meaningless,
Unmoving in eternal.

My prayers,
Flow in winds,
Seeds to plant
A new earth in me.

The bead is
A dream, a postman,
A forgotten lover
a tasteful peach.

Counting beads
A daily Om,
one after another.

Breath after breath
Bead after bead,
No matter
what comes next
Endure life,
With no expectation.

Never be the same,
The beads fulfill
The Malas destiny
In their own good time.

The phase,
Between act and withdraw,
Is an opportunity
To observe,
To choose,
how to experience,
The next bead,
the next moon,
or the next day.

Joy, sorrow,
dramas of a complete
chain of events,
They will pass,
Noisy or
in silence
Through tunnel of time..

My Mala is full,
The permanent thread,
Holds the repetition of the beads,
While my prayers,
Plant a new me
In each moment.

Ripe fruits,
Grown corps,
thirsty soil,
nurtured by love.
Village to village
Tender the hearts,
Wraps the warmth of Sun
Around cool face of earth.

A simple act,
Count beads,
Endure life,
In silence.

In a simple act,
The Supreme success.

© Serena Devi, January 2011