Inspirations
- The Galleria |
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Episodes Poems by R Y Deshpande
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Ishta
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Heavens have I have known and glories of night
Discovered; I have followed the darkness Deepening as if into a mystery That gave birth to countless stars, lit a marvel Bright like wisdom burning in the works of time. I have felt from sudden exquisiteness Of the infinite a rush of movements Invading the worlds; ocean-streams of wonder Carry legends of a new creation. Gates of life have swung open in excellence Of the original gods awaiting Chant of the early priest, calm of the sage, That a thousand worships be offered at morn For the sun to incarnate in endless day. Like a roaring flame born in a moment Shorter than the wink of eternity Whose swift glance allows even death to be In a mood of another ascending thought, My spirit’s ageless urge prevails everywhere. On top of the breathing hill tall I stand. O the strangeness in the bosom of night Effecting guilt for the mortal to outgrow Himself, the enchanted authority Keeping under its spell our tenderly hopes! Nothing of destiny holds back my vision And no cramped circles can my paces curb; An image of the far-away enters In a leap into my vigilant sight As though lifted was curtain of the fading Past, needed to exist no more. None can now Arrest the flight of these exceeding birds To tranquil skies of truth’s abidingness. As sweet as infancy that is dew-fresh But bearing the will of the fire kindled On the altar of the Being, surprised Beauty awakes in the heart of delight. |
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On the banks of the swift stream stood a mansion With spacious rooms; the prayer-hall was filled With incense made from gums of sacred trees And the soft tranquil breeze carried fragrance To bowers of warm reverie. A strange Flutter brought intimate notes to silence In which live songs. I looked around and saw A new god running down the hill bespelled By the grassland and the garden that grew Like imagination of an artist Disclosing the secrets of things to be. Colours were adazzle in his dream And to the waking sky time had taken Rapid wings in bright purple and orange Of the early hour. Voices of eager Intuition drew nearer and chirping Quickened the occult’s mood. From realms of sleep Came metaphors of deathlessness and turned Grief and anguish into hymns of the morn. I even wondered if the ideal Could be the real when youth had not tasted The joy of love, rose plant smiled in beauty, And the stars brought out twinkles of the night; But the mansion by the swift stream at once Became aware of an invisible Presence, felt words are timeless, that wisdom Is the true cause of all this existence. Nothing seemed to matter in that greatness, Nor life nor mortal dread, the phantom thought, Nothing that we dearly prize, except The demiurge of the spirit. Amazed Then the god climbed down the eleventh step And as the door opened unexpectedly An optimist vision spread everywhere. I knew someone wished to grow in the house Built by the swift stream whose course is delight. |
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