Sweet is the breath, sweet is each thought,
Upon love’s flaming limbs am upward borne,
How hath Thou in time this miracle wrought,
From raw barren desert an oasis has grown!
My erstwhile prosaic words strung to melody,
My heart turns a fount of cascading songs
Many moons of gladness sway on mind’s sky
I soar within freed by my soul-skylark’s wings
Such a revel is there even in Thy faint preludes
O Miracle Maker, blessed is the day Thou didst
Plant Thy feet upon this earth’s forlorn ways,
Now our days and nights are forever blessed!
Make me every man, and woman and flower and bird,
I shall sing a hymn from each in Thy spheres to be heard!
How many drownings shall absolve us whole,
How many abnegations unchain our spirit wings,
How many renunciations to reveal the soul,
Oh I have lost trail of count of these effacements!
Were we not caught in the wake of Thy vast sweep,
Our thoughts drowned in a drop of Thy thought-ocean,
Our little hearts snared happily in Thy love’s grip,
Our souls watered by Thy light into tendrils grown.
Turn our bodies into channels of light and force,
Helm our wills as a chariot of Thy sublime action,
Make of our thoughts a vehicle of Thy radiance,
Transmute our lives into Thy living emanation.
O Master, O Divine, render us in Thy image sublime,
Turn us each into mighty agencies of Thine!
How shallow are these tools, these words, this knowledge,
Clumsy implements the shallow ego to keep peace!
How vain each moment’s enterprise seeking to budge
A single gesture for us from Thy vast divine silence!
What of our remnants rankles Thee, what doth offend?
What sweet speech or honeyed song must we proffer
To Thee so high, so impossibly inconceivably profound?
Another dusk tears down the mellow glory of sky,
A haggard thought ruminates day’s vain expense.
The tired will prepares for Night with resolve steely;
And we wonder if there is no limit to soul endurance.
In imperceptible feeling we feel Thee grow nearer,
Than this very self Thou doth grow dearer!
Through the fires of desire I pass unblemished,
Borne the taunts of crude ambition unflinching,
I have cast off pride like a garment most soiled,
Nude am I, of all deeds emptied, Thee desiring.
Will Thy great halls admit entry, Thy portal
Doors open the occult pathways ever sealed?
Will Thy light-shaped mansion brook a mortal
Who parlayed with the agents of falsehood?
For Thee I ventured this abyss, this black field
That the haloed gods who in shame do shun.
No reserve from besmirching taint have I held,
Yielded coin of virtue and vice to Thee gain.
Each moment I pilgrimage in thought to Thy home
And to Thy hidden presence I perambulating roam.
With what bright contagion hast Thou infected
My lay unknowing heart that loitered in Time?
How many lassoes hast Thou on mind deployed
That leash my thoughts to Thy sole theme?
When did these old solitary roads take shape
Into Thy enduring semblance ravaging the heart?
In each mote of flying dust there is Thy hope,
Oh why must my heart in this quandary be caught?
Who art Thou, stalking stealing all my shame,
Like a wayward delinquent have I now turned,
Dancing and revelling within with Thy name,
Absolved from the mores of Time I now stand.
Consign then my form and my name
At Thy feet O blessed Immortal Flame!
In what age or cycle began this our blessed tryst,
In what field of clash, arrayed on opposing line?
Whence swore I to Thee pursue in long time,
Battling each mundane hour in Thy pursuit?
In what wayward dream wouldst I have ever known
I would sing glorious paeans to any conqueror?
What fallen heart ever pays homage to its victor,
And bear its vassalhood’s sigil like a crown?
What fortresses hast Thou not breached within,
Through all my dullard reluctance and reticence?
Arriving in splendour and a subtle flamboyance,
Standing on my ramparts a beauty most benign!
But now am conquered by Thy divine design,
O defeat me ever and forever, O Paramour mine!
Wither all the endless canons of observance,
Of norms and means and a vast restraint,
For here is a whim’s arbitration reckless
That counts no modesty or free consent.
What hath alloyed the hours, what catalyst will
Warps the routine, the learnt hard won lesson,
Like a familiar dream face of foreign ill
Planting a poison-seed upon sleeping bosom.
What is this fertile desert, this barren spring,
A caricature for summer or a parched winter?
How many upendings must Thou perforce bring
Into my human day and night to prepare
Thy unknown, unseeable felicities most rare?
Oh the churns and turns for Thee we endure!
Today, today I shall spar no more with Thee,
Arms forego vigour, my fingers unclenched,
My heart armour shorn and pristinely empty,
Why must I battle Thee, O my sole Beloved!
Nay, not in war and clash must be our speech,
Not in hot debates about the grammar of life.
This Thy habit of rancour Thou must breach,
Oh I tire of Thy quarrelling and all Thy strife.
Come now, by me be seated, do pause awhile,
Thy world machine will indeed perpetual run. …
O hissing reed, O poison chalice, O coiled venom, Waiting like fates in the familiar bush Or sleeping like destiny in folds of time. What malevolent will made thy dangerous marvel, And throned thee on thy own heaped body, Thy hooded crown bearing thy trident sigil? O supple lightning, fear’s agile spear, What ancestry of force lent thee shape, Who cleaved thy tongue, Who shaped thy dagger-fang? Piping poison From thy dismal heart, that fount of maladies! Art thou time’s kin, weaving slowly a noose Around the neck of life? Who of thy kin stirs in us, coiled in base…
This Thine earth, deplorable and magnificent in turns swift,
The life within that follows this fatal and exhilarating run,
Always peering over edge of cliff and ruinous parapet,
As if oath bound to ruin, to unwind all thus far ever done?
Wither courses the meteor, wherefore burns furious sun,
For whom rages the storm, the turmoil of restless waves?
Why labours thought, the heart wrung dry by passion,
The vain strung nerves and the doomed forlorn brows?
Wither Thy dawn, here are only dusks and a long night,
Punctuated by a glimmer too brief they all call as a day!
Wither Thy cycle of rise and fall and purpose done right,
Here is but a meandering refrain courseless and wry!
A strange junction is this of saving hope and hopeless despair,
Our onward sunlit path’s hint Thou must perforce declare.
Hi, I am Mahesh CR, Founder @tataatsu. I walk the borderlands between technology & spirituality. Follow @kalisbrood for Spirituality & Hinduism related topics