Moths

Like moths dancing in darkness,
lifted on the breath of every breeze
beckoned by each odd fragrance
  of the night,
raptured by the pull of sheer magnetic
  sounds –

Like moths on random roads of air,
blown down the monstrous back
  of being,
we ply our routes in search of merchandise:
rare gems and baubles of the sensual –

Until, riding the black sea to its edge,
we gasp to find ourselves in a fleet of wings,
  no longer alone,
borne toward a breathless flame,
plunging with sudden speed
  into the white light of God,
that ineffable oblivion.
_{Original Poem by a satsangi}