I flip through the pages of a thick book by my favorite poet, seeking inspiration to write a speech for a college class. I skim for eye-catching words, but then land upon a poem that draws me all the way in.
"Wow," I breathe.
I softly knock on Shalagram's door. "Come in," she says.
She's eating dinner in front of her window, and I settle upon her mattress. "May I read you a poem?" I ask.
"Sure," she says. "Who is it by?"
"The ancient Sufi poet, Hafiz," I reply.
When I finish my declamation, we sit in silence for several moments. Then, "Wow," Shalagram breathes.
"Stunning, no?"
"Amazing. Bhakti, do you think it's possible to have that kind of love?"
I ponder for a moment. "It's not possible with material love," I say. "Only spiritual love. I realize that... Srila Prabhupad has shown this love to us. How profound that he has shown this love to thousands and millions of us."
We sit in silence for a couple moments more, pondering this poem.
***
"Some Fill With Each Good Rain"
There are different wells within your heart
Some fill with each good rain,
Others are far too deep for that.
In one well
You have just a few precious cups of water,
That "love" is literally something of yourself,
It can grow as slow as a diamond
If it is lost.
Your love
Should never be offered to the mouth of a
Stranger,
Only to someone
Who has the valor and daring
To cut pieces of their soul off with a knife
Then weave them into a blanket
To protect you.
There are different wells within us.
Some fill with each good rain,
Others are far, far too deep
For that.
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