Paul Smith








Of all the beautiful places in this Dream

Melbourne is a special one it would seem.


When Godman was asked of Melbourne’s centre:

“My lovers hearts, all Melbourne’s My centre.”


Along the quiet ebbing Yarra’s banks at dusk

Lovers sigh together and still their rippling lust.


The great beauty of this garden city is renown;

Botanic Gardens rival Eden, His first home.


When through Melbourne’s countryside He drove

“All this beauty is still an illusion,” He said with love.


No better place is there to walk with You;

Down these dusty God trodden streets love grew.


Pines meet, caress, while eucalyptus sway in tune:

Even the grey walls of pollution have to swoon.


All colours, creeds and lifestyles come to stay,

Find their ‘something’ here and never go away.


The Painter knows the clarity of Melbourne’s light:

He came here in 1956 and established… Sight.


Melbourne is kind to lovers, He saw to that:

Anyone who can’t see that is blind as a bat!


The Yarra slowly ripples out to… the sea

The bay and then the ocean, flooding You to me.





When the rain comes

            You will be standing before me,

just You and the rain.

Rain embracing You

            like gently falling streamers,

with all the colours

            imaginable and unimaginable.

A prism of ecstasy

            will mirror You,

You will whisper ‘come’

            and open wide Your arms,

and I shall stumble

            many times

                        before I reach You.

But I will reach You

            and be bathed in tears

            of remembrance.

And the rain?

The rain shall soar back to infinity,

when the King of the Rain comes.







I have seen His hands upon the children

bathe stumps of smiling lepers

eat with the foodpoor of the Universe

converse with smiling mothers

                        cuddle their babies


I have seen His sandaled feet

move rapidly across a courtyard

instigating the motion of the stars

                        the awakening of the heart

the swoop of the birds

                        upon the merging sea.

I have seen His hands

                 His eyes

                 His face

speak words

that span Creation

that inflame the heart

until it is agony

to be without Him.

I have sensed His loneliness

and my loneliness

                        revealed itself to me.          








In His hands unfold the movements

            of stars

                        great trek through

                                    cosmic joke,

In His smile the distant future

            past unveiling

                        songs of understanding

                                    praise Perfection,

In His eyes infinite mirror

            reflecting inward


                          silent recognition

                                    hidden Unity,

In His walk the nonexistent race

            of manufactured

                 time is illusion

                        against the Constant

                             Now is still

                                    ever everywhere,

In his feet the great magnetic

            hold the universe

                 fill the space

                        never was

                             always ceases

                                    to exist,

In His Silence every sound

            every form contained

                 within the uncontained

                        infinite soundless Silence

continually Manifesting silence,           


In His heart the beat of creation

            Dance of Play

                 Song of Journey

                        spinning Web

                                    Love throughout

                                         cloak of illusion,

In the dust at His feet

            songs of His lovers

               wooing His Glance

                        washing His feet

                             singing His Song

                                    Great Unwinding.






And they laid the body of their Beloved

in the tomb He had ordered

to be built for Him long ago,

and so they gently lowered the body

to which they had given their lives,

given with love because of His love for them.


And He was wrapped

            in the colour of their devotion,

and the tears of sorrow

            the tears of gratitude


washed his face

embraced the eyes that had held them

for so long,

                     for so long

                        He had said

that soon He would drop His body,

and now ...

And now they looked at the cold ice

                                    enclosing Him,

Stood above Him

                        minds racing

or stunned,

            hearts with Him

The evening sun bathed Meherabad

the rising moon kissed their bodies

with sweet tenderness of remembrance,

and many wept.


                                                Feb ‘69           






O Compassionate Father and Merciful Mother


Creator of all Life and Sustainer of Reality

            Destroyer of Illusion


                        Meher Baba


Ancient One, Avatar, Adam.

God in the Beyond and God in Form.


We Your servant seek Your Guidance

and wish to obey Your Command

Into Your hands we place our selves


Guide us in the Truth

not in the ways of our egos.


We wait upon Your Word

Beloved of all beloveds

Allow us to obey only You.





After His dropping His body this time

perhaps there will be no weeping

or guilt for not recognizing Him,

but great peace

            and joy

            and brotherhood

will illuminate

            the hearts of all

            and we shall work

            together as one

thanking Him silently in secret

corners of heart and mind.

Maybe we will sing again

the songs that flowed so naturally

the other times He came

and write poems

that sing His praises

            through the Universe

that lift the hearts of all

            into His,

not keep mumbling

            grey dirges

     of intellectual praise of ignorance.

Will we really live again?

He might be remembered physically

as He really is

(we have photography now)

not prettied up

or senselessly solemn and lifeless

like our organizations

that claim to represent Him

that fail to recognise Him

when He is again among us

doing as He did before.

And will we help kill him

as we killed His appearance

in Jerusalem

with 2000 years of selfish misinterpretation.

But it doesn’t really matter!

What concerns us

            this time

is acting upon His message

            (the same as those other times).

Could be we’ve bashed our heads

            against the walls

                        for so long now

that they are about to crumble

and we’ll see the obvious

            for a change.

What will He be remembered

most for?

His Silence,

            His Humility,

                                    His Humour,

His Compassion,

            His spontaneity

                                    His Love for us

or the change in Mankind?

Who will stand up

            after He has left His body

and live and die for Him?

Will we remember

            what He lived and said

when He was here -

“I love you more than you can

ever love yourself.” “I and

God are One.” “Love Me.”

And will we love Him

                        next time?



           BABA’S BLUE BUS


Then there was the blue bus,

            carried them with Him

            journeys into now-here,

everywhere it went

                        causing Manifestation

blue bolt of auto-lightening

   crashing through midnight

     waking another dawning

         and if that blue bus

            could not bind the threads,

               leap continents, planets, creation,

               He drove it till it could,

                 dwelt on it with

                        loving care,

               tuned its should-be-tired


               pumped in the good juice




               pressed the Om-point


               Jammed it out

                        of neutral



            Moved this GodAlmighty








The only purpose of God’s Creation,

is to remind us of its Creator.


Each leaf that drops

            tree that grows

dog that barks

            frog that croaks,

Each missile that is launched

            arm that is severed

knife that is stabbed

            insult that is hurled,

Each sun that rises

            flower that blooms

            bird that sings

baby that smiles,

Each lie that is told

            tree that is felled

            pain that’s inflicted

            city that’s bombed,

Each touch that heals

            gun that kills

            sight that pleases

            look that hates,

Each frozen lake

            each deadly snake

             each obvious fake

            each mournful wake,

Each orphan who wails

            boat that sails

            competitor who fails

            judge who jails,

All, each and all and everything

   and everyone and there is

   no exclusion to this:

God creates and preserves

and He also destroys

His hand is behind each flutter

of life, each laugh of joy

each sigh of death.


To see Him in the rose’s beauty

or the infant’s eye

or the work of art

or the sky’s red glow

or the mountain’s peak

or the poem’s melody

            is an easy thing to do.


            to see Him in the assassins


            or the twisted corpse,

            the angry eye

            the obvious lie

            or the senseless pain

            or the polluted stream

            is not so easy.

But how can we know God

            and love God

            and praise God

until we see God

            as He really is?





God has manifested in

            the physical presence

            of Everything

            and that includes

you and me and she and he

            and right through to

            it almost does not exist

            only energy finite

            from mind universal finite

            even the Universe

            and all the countless others


            having beginning and end

            the circle complete


            to make space in a vacuum

                 for bubble to go


                 now and then

            the whole illusion goes


            individually collectively

            altogether Everything

            rounds off the circle

            and starts a fresh a new



                        out of

               The Womb Word

                 becomes finite

            takes all without form

            and all with form

            and awakens everything

            to its possibility consciousness

            internalizes focus intake

            depth width breath of


                   is Life Force

                 keeping check

            everything is as it should be

                 nothing to desire

            completely happy with Everything

                 praise The Game

                         is Infinite

                     no thing loses

               you win your soul

               become aware of existence

            Be Careful         for God


            Infinite               Energy

               has                 bounds



            allowed            misused

            leads into stone state

                        of nothingness

            but usually a helping soul

                        of perfection

            lifts you up and into

                 the next dimension

                 where only God Is


             JUST THE SIGHT OF

            YOUR SELF AT LAST

            THIS IS ME       ALL ME


            THEN   WHO AM I     and

                        GOD SPEAKS

                 I         AM         GOD

                   A       U         M


                        AND BEYOND

                        AND BEYOND

                        AND BEYOND

                 THE THREE WORLDS

                 MATTER ENERGY MIND

                        INTO THE


                   THE ILLUSION GOD

                     CONSCIOUS GOD











            Seed of the Creator

into the womb of Own illusion

            born first of human form


                 e v o l u t i o n

                        into man








            for the memory of God


                   before man

            for man to see HU (GOD)

            he had to enter himself

            I N V O L U T I O N

       to the depth of the Ultimate

            First Master of First

               only Journey


            Conscious of GOD

                 at first at last

            The Ancient One

   Avatar Messiah Rasool Buddha

            Ultimate Pirate

            Thief of Perfect Love

            Compassionate Father

            knowing everything GOD

               sustained seed


                   the question

                   who am I

                   Comes back

                   to fertilize

                   seed of God

               so all the shadow




                        it Self


                        No Shadow

                        comes back

               to free His own shadow

                 which doesn’t exist

                        and that’s


                 the Ultimate Joke






Seven thousand years ago

You came out as Zoroaster

Sun came down to You

You never rise and set.

From beyond illusion


came down

setsail from beyond

the seventh sun

shadow of the Sun

Ultimate Sun

Shine Shine

Shine again beyond Time

Shine through Time

Shine on the brow

Ancient Sailor

Ultimate Pirate


After the Sun came out

You came out as Rama

Gave meaning to the stars

Arrows of Your glance

Cutting through the sea of endless night

King of the seven seas

Ultimate Pirate


walk again the timeless ship

the stars

maps of voyages

inlets of conquests

each star a burning lover

each spark a longing

for You

Pirate of Love


As Krishna

You walked the deck of the loveship

Flute at the lip

Perfect wine at Your table

Dance from the shores of illusion

Out to the vessel of harmony,


For the moon

Came out of Reality

The perfect overhead moon

Lights the lip of Love

Plays the pipe of wooing

To fill the ship

with all who wish to travel

across the seas of mind

beyond the seventh moon

past seven setting suns

through the blistering dance of time

to that bower in the land of Love




Came out as Buddha

The whole illusion came out to You

Nothing came out Everything

You sat beneath the mast

Cut from the tree of light

You told the crew the rule

laid down by the beginning of time

swallow up the ocean of mind

sail through blue nothingness

through seven skies

past the end of time

Ocean of void

Dive in and swim

Swim into nothingness

Beyond Time



You stepped out

Ultimate Pirate Jesus

Nailed to the tree

Mast of Your ship

The word came out

Pierced the hearts of the hunted

Called them to the ship


Setsail for the One

Came out to sail you away

Bound for the Garden of God

Heart of the garden perfect rose

to sail you to the garden of peace

and rest in the bed of the Flower of Love.


Fourteen hundred years ago

You came again

This time named Mohammed

The Mountain came down


Now come again

This time came





came down


Born for the first time

as the beginning


Came out

beginning Time

very latent words came out

form came out

one two of everything

mind energy form

rock mineral vegetable

insect fish bird

animal monkey man






        came out



Imagination            Energy Vessel


Came out upon the waters of illusion

     Carrying the dove of love

         Built of the tree of Life

Ship of Light Shimmering iridescence

Cutting the waters of Time


Seven Colours

Seven Seas of Imagination

through which You came out


Captain of the Ship

Ultimate Pirate








Death and Paradise are pawns in His Play

They also in the final move are swept away.


The board is quiet, opposites motionless, waiting;

The Game is won, Your hand moves, Game begins.


You play against Yourself, there’s no other player:

There is nothing else to win except Yourself.


Loneliness is love that has not been returned,

Return Love through us back to Yourself.


Clothes, bodies, nerves, mind, each beautiful vehicle,

Like flies upon the great chalky dome of Creation.


Each star a bright burning fibre of being,

Each planet a seed of Your Imagination.


Each neverending void of space containing You,

Every atom, pebble, grain of wheat and glorious tree.


All sky so blue and green sea, every grain of sand,

Every living thing and every dead thing is You.


If all of this and so much more is Your Imagination,

How can a grain of sand imagine a neverending beach?


A pebble is a pebble because it knows no other

And God is God because He knows no other.


How then can the tiny pebble know God?

His feet walk earth’s stony road, awakening dust.


Sound the Song again, Original Sound sing out,

Don’t leave us like dust without Your Blessed tread.


When Meher Baba rose from the tomb at Meherabad,

He rose from the tomb of the mind of man into his heart.


He knocks at the door, heart resounds with His calling,

To contain His Presence the world won’t succeed.


For His Song sings out in everything in the end,

As it was in the beginning and forever beyond Time.






            burst the bubble

of this illusion

            with the Word.


Send us off into

            the journey

that is within



It’s all or nothing


            burst the ego

            with the Love

            that gave birth

            to the shadow

            and the illusion

            that we are.


Burst the bubble

            of the mind

that contains

            all the energy

that we put into

            the form

that we believe


Take it from us.


Burst its bubble

            and let there

                 be Nothing;

            and illusion

               -     the shadow

            seeks from where

                        it came.


            Your Game!





Slowly the deep orange hue on the earth’s sweet horizon

Throws out a further light into the blue: Sun’s rising!


Pink flow, the wide cloak of His great Dawn has come,

Now trains blow horns, birds praise, heart beats drum.


Magpies meet, woo like vibrating checked-flags of bliss

And forget about their prey, two insects above them kiss.


Chirping crickets bleep out waves of ‘the day has come,’

And the all of Creation wakes up to greet the only One.


That breeze now blows around my eyes a madness dance,

Never let me sleep again for I may miss another chance.


May sun forever shine and   moon forever glow His face,

And may perfect happiness of God descend on this place.


If all of the Creation was to come back down to dust,

A single moment in the Master’s Presence one can trust.


May we be given soon sight that rises like the sun before

My eyes have seen the glory of the rising Song we adore.




A - is for Avatar - the first and the last

B - is for Baba - the last and the first

C - is for Creator - there is only One

D - is for Divan - the book of the Word

E - is for ego - it’s all one must lose

F - is for Father - Beyond the Beyond

G - is for Grave - the means to the Source

H - is for heaven - the halfway mark

I - is for identity - which one must lose

J - is for Judas - the essential disciple

K - is for Karma - the Law that’s in force

L - is for Love - the Force that is used

M - is for Maya - the means to the End

N - is for Nothing - after which is Everything

O - is for Om   - point of departure

P - is for Perfection - the true state of all

Q - is for Question - that must be asked

R - is for Religion - that must be lost

S - is for Surrender - that must be made

T - is for trying - that must be tried

U - is for understanding - which comes with Time

V - is for Victory - of heart over mind

W - is for Word - from which it all came

X - is the mark - which we all bear

Y - is for You - the Total Undoing

Z - is for Zoroaster - the first of the last






His glance compounds in us throughout Creation,

Look to look we pass it on in silent communication.


Breaks through the watery limbo womb to light,

Lights the wick of the heart until complete distraction.


Burst through the barroom door and glanced my way,

Passed unknown from her and caused me consternation.


Looks can kill, You kissed goodbye my waiting game,

Death to myself - now You are the only destination.


That Glance sustains my soul although it’s been ages,

Passed that day in time, but, it led to recognition.


He Glanced through her, through me, I passed it on,

The thread of Light invisibly weaves the constellation.


Glanced through all of evolution to His Perfect form,

Meher, God, Glanced All into the great Involution.


His Look that hearts can’t resist is never absent,

Look into the Mirror of Love is a possible solution.




                   BUND GARDENS


I sit here,

            here in Bund Gardens,

the cool air rushing

            around the back of my neck

caressing me,

            the lovers walking hand in hand,

each bench occupied,

                                    most asleep,

some lost in troubled thoughts;

on the stone bench

                        next to me

an ordinary looking man


                        lotus position

swaying          from side to side,

                          eyes ablaze

                     with some kind of fire,

maybe hunger,

maybe lust,

                        or just maybe

                                         love for You.


On the opposite bench

a woman lies,


sari top moved up to reveal

                        a beautiful brown breast,

and…there is beauty



            here in Bund Gardens,



            here in Poona,

                                 the birthplace of God

this time,

                        come again as Meher Baba.


And how often

                        He came here

                     with His men disciples,

His beloved Bund Gardens.


He often walked past this fountain

                        before me

                   two small children

                   wrestling in fun

and He would have grinned,

               eyes screwed up in amusement,

                        loving the play,

                     the game of it all,

the innocence of each of us

and the fun in this great game

                                    He plays so well.


And to my left

                        the silver lion stands,

ball of the world

                        under its right front foot.

And He would sit upon it

                        as I have done

and gesture of its ferocity

                             and smile

and gesture

                        that like the lion

He has the whole world

                                    under His control,

so don’t worry,

                        for although He can be

as fierce as a lion with His lovers,

                        He can also be

as gentle as a lamb.


And the Bund Gardens

            spread out before me,

the rotunda behind me,

                        with groups playing cards

away from the sun,


and He must have sat in there

                                    with the others

and played

                        and explained about Love

                        and Himself and Creation

                        and what is yet to come.


And He would often walk

beside His beloved river

                        the Muttra,

just beyond the garden

to my left,

                        and the fishermen fishing

                        as He fished 200 years ago

and the force of the great river

rushes over the brink

                        in one great long flow

                        like His Love for us:

unceasing, always available for us

                        to wash our sorrows away

like the women washing their bright clothes

upon its banks today

                        as they must have done

when He once walked

                        by this river

                        by Bund Gardens.


And further over

                        my left side

                                         is the open area,

with magicians

                        who are the world’s best

waiting to perform near miracles

                        a foot or so

                     before your eyes

just for a few rupees and paise,


            strange-eyed men with birds in bags

that they claim can speak

                        in almost any language

for a price

            but not for paise,

“rupees five or ten please”


And small trolleys

with hawkers selling

                        roasted corn or peanuts

and others            selling coconuts,

one chop and a drink

                        to make the gods weep.


And further down,

                        down towards the great river

stands the Tree

                        and what a Tree it is!

What size,

            what symmetry,

            what a history!


It stands,

            knowing so much about God,

it must be

the wisest tree in existence.

For, so many years ago,

            God in human form named


sat for many years

                                    under this same tree

and dispensed to all and sundry

God’s Love            and Power            and Knowledge.


What that tree

                        must have heard and felt.

The back of God

                        has often lent upon it

                        as others

                        lean on it today

and unknowingly imbibe

                                    God’s neverending Presence.


And Baba would often go

and look at this tree

and admire this Tree

                                    of all trees,

and gesture:

                        What a tree!

                        You do not know

                        what this tree has experienced,

                                                 it is beyond your comprehension.


And He would touch it

                                    with a friendly slap

                                    and lay His tired back

                                    against its skin

and begin to dispense His Love to all

                        and sundry


                        under God’s Tree.


And once,

            He pointed to a spot

                                    at the top of its trunk

and said to those gathered near:

‘The river will come up to here’

and they joked and found it hard to believe

for it would have to cover the bridge

            and that was almost impossible.


And some time later

                                    the dam burst

and the mighty river rose

to the top of the tree’s trunk

and the waters spread throughout Poona

                                    the City of God.



And there was no fresh water

for many of the people

of this Fortunate unfortunate City.


And so the well at Baba’s house

was to become the focal point

as thousands of buckets

kept many of them alive and clean,

thousands drank of its sacred water

without knowing the worth

                                    of its Owner

and His well did not fall

                                    a single inch.


Ah, here I sit,

here is blessed Bund Gardens

and recall

some of the times You


graced this holy place

                                    with Your Divine Presence,

a cool breeze brushes

                                    the back of my neck

and I long to see You.


And beyond my back

                                    in the open space

where stands the Tree,

                                    the hawkers, magicians

and the men with bi-lingual birds

                                                in sacks,

beside the small cafe

                        stands the pale blue

                        miniature theatre

about five feet high and four feet wide

all metal

            with holes to view through

and the ancient miniature man

who happily,

                        O so happily

                                    for a small sum

will show you

                        the World’s Great Comedians:

Chaplin and Keaton, Ben Blue

Laurel and Hardy too

                        and Charlie Chase

and the Keystone Cops

creating their mad antics on a tiny screen

about five inches square

and tiny chairs

and buckets on the stage

                                    in case of fire,

and He also

must have viewed these greats


                          the Greatest Mime

                        of them all,

the greatest Joker

must have held His sides

to contain the laughter

that would almost spill out,

                                    and if it did

it would have engulfed

                        the whole of creation


drowned us all in Joy.



And I sit here in Bund Gardens

and light a cigarette

                        for a fellow appreciator

and survey His Creation,

the trees sway to His Music,

the flowers brightly wave,

            lovers walk arm in arm,

families eat apples

                        juice running down the roses

                                    of the children’s

                                         happy cheeks,

and lonely people

                        feel not so lonely for awhile

as they sit here

and listen to the birds sing

                                    the river roar

the rickshaws saw through the crazy traffic,

horns blast and motorcycles bleat like sheep

the sky turns blue            and            O Baba,

it is impossible not to thing of You,            here

here in this joyful sacred place,

here in Your Bund Gardens.                                            


Aug. 1985



Being Your slave, is far better than being any king:

to be a world-ruler without You, would be nothing.

Being Your drunkard’s far better than any sobriety,

You intoxicate me with one glance You’re shooting!

Being Your poet is far better than any Nobel Prize:

the only prize that I prize is You, “I love it”, saying.

Being Your lover is better than on the silver screen;

compared to Your beauty all film-stars are waning!

Being Your prey is better than being safe forever…

Your cruelty to me is such bliss from this I’m dying.

Being Your seeker, is like travelling to the moon…

and beyond that You are the sun, upon me shining.

Being Your beggar is better than winning a lottery:

the only lot of worth... is Your foot on me standing.

Being Your servant is like waiting on the Almighty,

Perfection is Yours... and my service is most willing.

Being Your biographer, I find I am lost for words…

You’re in this life and also beyond it You’re existing.

Being Your minstrel is to be playing into Your hands

for each song I sing of You, You are really composing.

Being dust at Your feet is far better than being gold:

if You tread on me, pure alchemy I’m then becoming!

Being You in Your other form is still beyond my form:

I hear and feel Your presence and it is overwhelming.

Being Paul, a being that You’ll ‘love until eternity’,

that the ‘same goes for me’, is all that I am saying.

“Being me, O lover, poet, slave, prey, and minstrel:

it is difficult to wait until to ‘Me’ you are coming!”


The difference between our ages is quite enormous,

You are beyond all Time while I wait for it to pass.

Let them sat what they like, I will still be Yours…

the only voice that I hear isn’t with these ears I use.

If You were to lead me down a street like a dog on

a chain, I’d consider myself... a most fortunate ass!

Being of service to You is being a slave to the finest

household in creation, receiving Your divine abuse!

Look at me, what am I without You, nothing... dust!

Dust should be thrown under Your foot, so gracious!

One fine December day call me to You wherever You

may be and I’ll come instantly to suffer Your abuse

or whatever You have in store for Your poor lover…

be it heaven or hell, for whatever You give is of use!

Use me O my Beloved, use Paul until he does die…

for Your grace is Perfect and Your ecstasy enormous.

I hear Your voice, “You have won my attention I’ll

give You that! Prepare yourself, or what is the use?”



Without You in my heart, this heart would not exist…

without You on my mind, illusory thoughts they persist.

Without You as Beloved this lover would be nowhere…

without Your face to see again, there’s no place of tryst.

If I forget You a moment, crush my neck with Your foot:

if I try to live without You… become an interventionist!

What’s the point of being Your slave… without orders?

Tell me what to do for You… even let me cease to exist.

At least a dog in Your street knows where your street is:

give me direction to Your door, or I’ll be Your extremist!

Love, is a game of ‘give and of take’, haven’t You heard?

Give some more take, I’ll take all You give, I can’t resist.

the pollution today is so extreme that I can’t see a thing:

You veil face with distance being such an obstructionist!

Recently I saw a movie, a fight between God and Satan:

Your Love is beyond tearful ideas for You are the Realist.

Is there truly any point in separation’s game You play…

when in truth You tell me it is unreal and won’t persist!

It is said there’s divine bird, flying between day and night

and it’s circling the world daily. Hey, if it really does exist

let it take this message to You… O my Perfect Beloved:

“This distance is killing me… it, and I, cannot co-exist!”

Your answer, it takes less than a day and needs no bird…

“You complain so well lover, praise in complaint, persist.

And remember this always Paul, take it wherever you go:

when lover is ready, Beloved comes; remember, I insist!”


Feb 2004 Pune.