When All Else Leaves, the Eternal Stays

When mortal ties dissolve like morning mist,
And voices once familiar turn to stone,
When not a soul remains whose hand you've kissed,
And fate ordains you tread your path alone

Then find the floor, that ancient, sacred plane,
Where saints have wept and sages knelt in flame;
No loftier refuge soothes the silent pain
Than whispered mantras in the Ātman’s name.

When blood denies, and oaths return to dust,
And kinship shatters in the winds of change,
Bow not to man, so fickle and unjust,
But seek the One beyond all mortal range.

The One whose brow bears chandra crowned in fire,
Whose silence holds the Vedas’ secret will;
Beside Him, Shakti robed in red desire,
Who births the world and makes the cosmos still.

The Prince of Dharma, keeper of the bow,
Still walks in truth, through forest, flame, and fate;
With Him the Strength all asuras fear to know,
Who stands as Shraddhā at the bhakta’s gate.

The Preserver veiled in māyā's gentle play,
Who lifts the fallen with a lotus hand—
And She who rains down gold and guards the way
Dwells where pure hearts in silent japa stand.

So when all doors are sealed by worldly scheme,
And none extend a glance or guiding ray—
Fall not to grief, nor curse the broken dream,
For Divine is near where folded hands still pray.

-Ramisha Jain

12.04.2025

I recently saw a post on Instagram which read, “if there is no shoulder to lean on, there is always a floor tone and pray.”, and there was too much truth to ignore, indeed. This poem is based on the same sentiment.