Swami - a graphic poem

Swami

One devotee asked another: „Could you, prabhu, tell me this:
Is your guru a pure Vaisnava, purely merged in Krishna’s bliss?”

“Does his voice choke when he’s chanting, does his hair stand on end?
Maybe if there’s no one around, does he cry, by prema rent?”

“In the night, when the world is sleeping, can he travel through space?
Like Narada Muni himself, can he fly to Krishna’s place?”

“There, on Vraja’s grazing lands, where the sakhya story strands,
Is he playing ball with Krishna? Is he laughing with his friends?”

“Or maybe even after dusk, she sneaks out through the open window,
And then in a grove by the riverside, she talks with gopi so and so?”

The queries ceased, the silence fell, they looked each other straight in the eye.
“So what you say? Please, don’t be shy. Is he a chrysalis or a butterfly?"

“I’m not silent, because I’m shy. Don’t take my wrong, I’m a stand-up guy.
I’ll answer straight – I just don’t know, but nevertheless, my best I’ll try.”

“Every time I meet my master, he speaks of Krishna, nothing else.
Is this a sign of siddha? Maybe. For me indeed, a lot it tells.”

“When I’m plunged into the darkness, which sometimes happens, I must say,
He’s there, to throw the life preserver, and  haul me back, to Krishna’s bay.”

“When I look at him and see, how much for Krishna does he live,
I see my prospects and like him I very much would like to be.”

“Then I look at sisters, brothers, the comrades on this superb path,
I see them shining, shining bright, with love and wisdom, what a sight!”

“So when you ask, how big is he, I cannot tell you, forgive me.
But I can give for sure this touch – if I only loved Krishna half that much...”