Religious marks on their foreheads
rosaries in their hands
they think devotion is some child’s play.
And then they call me crazy
what do people know?
They cut leaves,
they burn candles
they worship stony idols
who I worship
and who I celebrate
is the teacher of truth
People say that I am crazy
But it is only my love
who knows my secret.
The heart can think of no devotion
Greater than being shore to ocean –
Holding the curve of one position,
Counting an endless repetition.