Swan of Silver Blue Lake

It was Wednesday morning when in search

Of the primordial word he set off

To the north. Chirping of the birds had ceased

And the active day begun. Far away

Leaving their resting trees swiftly on wings

They flew to reach a new sky. Its gold-red

Started brightening, even as the chimes

Lifted up the temple above the hill.

Across the forest verge the rivers spoke

In rushing voice of the immortal hush

Wherein is born the creation’s first hymn.

Swan of silver blue lake on the summit

Of mind stirred the waters of consciousness

And pearl-bright ripples gentle, prescient,

Entered into eternity’s alcove;

And the daemon on the purple airways

Carried tranquil thoughts to the regions

Of turmoilless heaven. Utter silence

Deeper than the blue is a metaphor

That widens and widens until, flaming

Through the ideal’s new gate, it becomes

Universal, yet embodied. Wondrous

Is the soul of time that can discover

Deathlessness of life,—because anxiety

Has vanished and no more can petty self

Foul the nest, nor fear that grows larger

Than passion intimidate the spirit

Present in every work of nature.

Then, crossing the land of mesonic word,

He came to a place where what’s to be known

Is known by sight, expressed by sight, cosmic

Movements and rhythms of air, water, fire, earth,

Even of the gods. Brahma did tapas

For another day and the word broke out

And expanded in the supreme ether.

Thus he lived in its wide-ranging delight.

RY Deshpande

5 June 2004