For Abdu'l' Baha

For Abdu'l'Baha

One hundred years or so, ago in a New York state of mind,
white beard flowing...slow moving 
like a whisper in the rain, He came.
Softly. Knowing. Kind.
White hair, alabaster, The Master.
In awe back then they flocked around him,
birds with broken wings, and stained.
Some just to listen, to gaze into mirrored eyes,
into main arteries ~ closer than their life vein,
then never to be the same again in a New York state of mind.
April eleven, nineteen-twelve, is a mystery 
that it will go down in history.
Read through the pages of poets and sages,
some thought him, Christ ~ the Return.
I yearn for him, His Presence ~  The Prophet of Kahil Gibran
The Touchstone I rest my soul, on.
Abdu'l'Baha.

ldn