This poem was written on the day of a tragic shooting in the subway system in Brooklyn, NY. I visited The Bhakti Center and its beautiful Deity Room. The painting described is near the back of the room, where I was sitting, and it captured my attention.
I saw the painting in the room of Deities:
Krishna smiled
joyous in the presence of those around Him --
monkeys, tiger, peacock, cows, and swan.
Not one was capable of speaking a word,
but in mute rapture, they approached,
drawn, attracted, unable to turn their gaze away.
Denizens of the holiest of all places,
in the woods of Vrndavana.
That morning I walked down lower Manhattan trash smell street,
and tried to recognize those around me.
I could see only that they were
the expressionless,
the hurrying,
the dangerous, the fearful.
Unable to look each other in the eye,
they moved in independent untouching orbits
around an unseen and unsuspected truth.
There I was among them,
with a thought I dare not speak,
a message I did not deliver.
Not really part of that silent world,
but not yet able to enter the other.
No - I was also there, in that blessed forest scene,
the last adoring beast to arrive.
A step or two away,
beginning to move closer, timid,
a quiet heart finding its voice at last.