It was Wednesday morning when in search

Of the primordial word he set off

For the north. Choir of the birds had ceased

And the active day began. Far away

Leaving their resting trees swiftly on wings

They flew to reach a new sky. Its gold-red

Started brightening, even as the chimes

Lifted up the temple above the hill.

Across the forest verge the river spoke

In rushing voice of the immortal hush

Wherein is born the creation’s first hymn.

The swan of silver lake on the summit

Of mind lapped the waters of consciousness

And pearl-bright ripples, gentle, prescient,

Entered into eternity’s alcove;

And the daemon on the purple airways

Carried tranquil thoughts to the regions

Of turmoilless heaven. Utter silence

Deeper than the blue is a metaphor

That widens and widens until, flaming

Through the ideal’s gateway, it becomes

Universal, yet embodied. Wondrous

Is the soul of truth that can discover

Deathlessness of life,—because anxiety

Has vanished and no more can petty self

Foul the nest, nor fear that grows larger

Than passion intimidate the spirit

Present in every work of nature.

Then crossing the land of mesonic word

He came to a place where what’s to be known

Is known by sight, expressed by sight, cosmic

Movements and rhythms of air, water, fire, earth,

Even of the gods. Brahma did tapas

For another day and the word broke out

And expanded in the supreme ether.

Thus he lived in its wide-ranging delight.

RY Deshpande

5 June 2004