‘When the sage points to the moon, all the idiot sees is the finger.'” — Anthony de Mello --- AKSHR

 

Where wisdom's light, a beacon bright,

Doth guide the soul through darkest night,

The sage, with knowing, gentle hand,

Points to the moon, across the land.

 

A whispered truth, a vision grand,

A cosmic dance, across the sand.

But fools, with eyes that cannot see,

Fixate on form, and vanity.

 

The finger, stark, a pointed plea,

Obscures the vast expanse, you see.

The moon's soft glow, a distant dream,

Lost in the shadow, a silent scream.

 

For in that gaze, so sharp and keen,

Lies not the finger, but the scene,

The boundless sky, the stars above,

The endless dance of time and love.

 

The sage's touch, a gentle art,

To pierce the veil, to reach the heart,

But those who cling to what they know,

See only shadows, cold and low.

 

So heed the words, the whispered sound,

And look beyond the ground, profound.

For in the moon, a truth resides,

While fools on fingers, lost, abide.

AKSHR