Into the dusk of song

These birds have a high legendary sense,

For they come from the far-off golden clouds

And into the dusk of song quietly depart.

From the eternal sound is their flaming,

Glimpsed sometimes across vision’s hurried calm.

Now they fill the sky with sparks of the sun-fire.

These hours are the flight of a mountain peak

Burning in the air of a superdense blue.

Agonies of ages raise their rocky hands

Of prayer in the silence of azure height

And disappear like dreams in a blazing sleep.

A superconscient glow is now their breath.

The birds meet the hours at the end of Time

Whose winged splendour is but Eternity’s beat.

RY Deshpande

13 May 1977