a chirstian poem (1)

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I was shocked, confused, bewildered

As I entered Goloka’s door;

Not by the beauty of it all,

Nor the light or its decor.

But it was the devotees in Goloka

That I was amazed to see;

I knew them all on the earth

But they had so little bhakti.

There stood my sankirtan leader

The one who stole Krsna’s money twice;

Next to him was my old TP

Who was never ever nice.

Krsna Das, who never preached,

Who seemed so insincere,

Was sitting ecstatically with Krsna,

To whom he seemed so dear.

I asked my guru,

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