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|By Avatar Vyakara||Genre||Rating||Reviews||Updates|
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Autumn leaves are turning, not yet falling, not yet
Flying in the wind to find a place for landing.
Skies not darkened, winter breezes cooled the mountains,
Yet the times to come are growing closer each day.
He flew to the ridge, the high peak of Laghima, and landed gently
As his tall glider brushed against the winds that he formed all around him
Carrying a parcel of food–rice, tea, water–he rode the blazing skies
As he went to see the master, bound to nothing, empty as the air.
There he sat, the master in the gales, unchecked and not drawn by the earth;
He was his own man, his own world, self-contained and completely at peace.
Around and round again the swift glider swept across the early autumn;
Laghima, the lightest of all the masters of air waited patiently.
Varvara, humble as a servant to a king bowed deep to the air.
The guru smiled, and held an open hand for the one who came to see him.
So honored am I, To be at the feet of one Who has mastered air.
There is no great wealth To match your abilities In all the known world.
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