If you take wings of the surreal science

In its flight towards the symbol being,

Then like a silver-throated swan of the word

Reaching into the inexpressible High,

You would reason the hopping of the bird—

The image, the vision, the primordial form.

Or if you look for the intimations

Struck in your breast with an occasional flint

And catch within you the glow of the glow-worm,

You would extrapolate the starry line

To the gleam of a perpetual hyacinth,

The beautiful symbolist of the bright sky.

RY Deshpande

15 October 1967