Ritual of the Spirit, my dreams fulfilled at last, Dreams as vast as the universe in a Word dazzle: Ritual of the Mind, my fervid chambers enthralled, Dance of the myriad Fire in forms of bliss supernal.
Day of the Year, appearing on a celestial calendar, Sacred brood of limitless Gnosis, in the golden hour!
My mind is baffled of forms of her gesture, A limbless dance of rapturous grace: My mind is touched of her stupendous bliss, A white stream rolling down into my last member.
Her gesture when in a prostrated form sublime feels, Myriad the meaning even whilst she stands guarding The lone channel hyaline twixt the Divine and I, bearing Her immortality’s stamp of maternal kiss.
My heart is enamoured of her gestures of love, A mighty note in rarefied fields of ethereal joy. Her gestures many and numerous floating ahoy Upon her spirit’s waters of everlasting trove.
A one marvellous gesture of her infinite many is My body happy in a play of her vast myriadness.
An epitaph thus read of an Immortal soul Lying tombed beneath a layered marvel, “Here lies a brood of God, an immortal Spirit whose visage brilliantly thrill Of the hour to come, whence from here he shalt Rise, in here till lie bare and motionless, While the stars wheel around And men perish and fruitlessly rise.”
The epitaph thus read and reread, Until I saw the Godhead shone of it.
Thy million gestures in a tinsel of my soul, Thy trillion-headed rapture my wingless flight! Of whose magic wrought here, who the Magician-all, On my heart’s white parchment embellished?
Thyself in all I see, in Thy brood I dwell, My mind a dying moth into a butterfly flutter, My body a phoenix from its own death rise, I see myself in all, Thyself in me childlike thrill.
I am Thy million-bodied oneness incarnate, In my brood all world and heaven renewed shine: Earth’s battles into skin porous penetrate, Her suffering turned into delight wholly Thine!
I am Thy child born with Thy radiant womb, In which born wert Thou as my golden Dream!
A new strength unlike my old waning temper, A splendorous godhead unlike an impassioned Brute maimed, self-despairing, locked in the mire, A new light in my departing twilight. All is now a song of an unheard music, An eternal note floating through the spheres Of my upper mind; my mind an old relic Still strangely fostered by streams of mechanical habits. If at all a relic, a Spirit’s mighty ash it be, For ever self-smeared on the forehead above the divine eye.
Belittle my run, mock my sprint, Stampede my motions, defeat my hour! Soul in everything, Spirit everywhere, Unbelittled I remain, my spirit unmocked. This Thy play, enchanting and enthralling, My reed blown of Thy breath, I sprint forth, earth measured of my mirth, Heaven my happy sojourn, in Thee am wandering. Together we run, Thou and I, A measureless leap of our integrality.
Founder@goldenlatitude. Lover of Sanskrit, Latin, Greek & the English Metre. Mostly write on Sri Aurobindo’s Yoga, whom I earnestly follow within and without.