I mistook the thunder for God’s anger,

and the silence for His disdain.

Yet all along it was Love,

carving hidden paths through my pain.

I rose and clothed myself in virtue,

my hands grew skillful, my tongue grew wise.

The world praised me,

but the heart whispered: “This is not the prize.”

I tasted sweetness, but it turned to ashes;

I drank from chalices that left me dry.

For the heart does not feast on bread,

nor is it sated by gold or sighs.

Faith crumbled into dust between my fingers,

desire wandered in deserts without a star.

I sinned to fill the hollowness,

but the hollowness only grew more vast.

O Beloved, I am lost,

yet it is in losing that I near You.

The void I fear is but Your doorway,

the ache I name is but Your clue.

Tell me then, O Eternal Whisper,

what is it my heart truly seeks?

For even in its blindness and rebellion,

it still bows—

not knowing to whom, but knowing it must.

And now I drift within this silence,

a pilgrim without a shore.

I know not my true purpose—

the stars have lost their lore.

I wander in the dark unknowing,

my heart a question, nothing more.

-Avinash Kumar