His choice made, I am enclosed
in the shaft of His eyes. Lotus,
bloom in me luminous.
Light, loom in my limbs.
Within my body I hold this liquor.
Deep in me, it dazzles. I am
proof of my love. I am now and
forever severed. Trifle and importance
no more, wheel and yoke are shattered.
Flung on my back, I welcome this
torrent – a flood racing
by my side. Discarding all will I yet
forge my link for I have pared
my wish down to one. I shall be
steadfast. Flush with Him I shall
see Him to the end.

Light weaves into light at last.

Conceive, O my friend, the pure self-interest in His move.
Shaking me awake He rises at my side. In
flesh and blood He arrives, coaxes me from rest,
roils and caresses my breast. Yet listen to sages
discoursing: “He is Intangible. Unattainable.
Transparent, like air.” “Unimaginable,” echoes mankind.
What can I say? I am all simplicity. Why split
hairs when His own is grass in my hand?
Could it be deeds I have performed? My reward
to match? Some past leading to this high delight?
I ride triumphant. Then He topples me swiftly
and I merely allow Him His right.
The night quickly deepens to the mesh of our limbs.
My sorrows spurt and perish in flame.
I am all supple now and my movements are
volcanic – attributable to this
gift from His thigh. Oh, don’t mistake me, my friend,
I am a giddy streaming flood of bliss containing
all that you call He and I.

What self-interest has my lover, my friend,
that daily He comes running to my bed of pleasure,
wakes up a woman who is full of sleep and enjoys her.
He so likes the joys of the body.
Gods say it is unattainable and sages get hardly a glimpse of it.
It is unimaginable, say men and women.
They see Him as having no qualities
and they describe Him as having qualities –
that same Hari in my company assumes body.
Guileless that I am I don’t care to know the difference.
Spiritual mumbo jumbo to them,
He comes to my home as my lord.
Whatever forms of unhappiness He burnt away,
and He became happiness incarnate.
By what meritorious deeds have I attained this perfect man!
How am I to describe the way I have
inverted asceticism into bodily joy.
I have subdued the lord, I ride above Him.
I offer curd to indulge my affection.
Permit me though to divulge
the truth: I crave
a vision of You. Why hold
division – Yours, mine? Here
stands the vessel: plain, simple.
Drink level to level, drain
brim to dregs.
Come to my house, my lord,
for the churning. Come
when twilight is a veil over things.
We could afford to keep eyes at bay,
but do not delay. This milk I offer,
sweet as infatuation, will ring
sharp and clear as my guilelessness.
It torrents down Your throat.
We are divested of difference. I,
Vasta Visambhar, a completed man,
know myself held in Your esteem.

Excerpted with permission from Where the Creature Is, There Is the Creator: Poems by Akho and Vasto, translated from the Gujarati by Gieve Patel, Speaking Tiger Books.