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Inspirations
- The Galleria |
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Poems by R Y Deshpande
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She
is Savitri |
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Fulfilling the Infinite in
the perfect form, Bringing to the heart of Time
the Eternal, Like a dawn borne by the chariot
of the sun To our day giving the vast
of the Truth-Light, She has come in the mystery
of her love. Goldening the tassel, purpling
the fringe, She is the honey-brightness
of the flower, And awakes the sleep and ennobles
the vilest things; She has cut the knot of the
mountains with her sword, And with the gaze of her eyes
kindled the bagatelle, And from the sky of her being
poured delight. Her flame is the Will of the
High burning in the Dark, And her name is seventy million
hymns: She is Savitri, the daughter
of the Unborn, And
in her coming is the advent of God’s hour. |
This
Fire |
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And long before the seer-monarch
wielded the sword, And the hero-soul speeded in
his chariot to Heaven, And in the immobile occult
was stirred in the bowl of the Void, And the dreams had woken up
in the mystery of the sleep. This fire was kindled in imperturbable
calm of the mountain, And in the green of the surge
that rushed from the Abyss, And in the unhorizoned expanse
of the sky beyond view. This fire was kindled in the
gloom-dense core of the rock, And in the swift-rippling stream,
and in the veins of life, In the hollow, and in the cave,
and in the pupil of the eye. This fire was struck not with
the sharp edge of the flint, Nor by sudden lightning in
the dark and ancient woods, Nor by the fine grains of the
fast-burning propellant-fuel. But this fire was pressed from
under the hooves of the horses, And this fire jumped like a
thunder from cloud to cloud, And sprang up from temple-bells
like a hymn of loud ascent, And climbed up from the valley
like a voice of immortality. O worship this fire and offer
it flowers and rich honey, Offer it the ornaments of night
and the happy moods of dawn: This fire established long
ago in the lotus-heart of creation, In million figs of this Tree
of the World spreading from above. Now this fire has been kindled
again in the hour of God As though a far-visioned poet
conquered the earth for his joy. |
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