“We’ve just crossed the tundra, and also seen
The ways of time wheel round,—” told Prāmānik
To his mate. “We’ve witnessed long history
Like a mysterious pageant flutter
On a treacherous screen, and grim battles,
Wars, acts of violence, misdeeds of despots,
Of the Tzars, foreseen revolutions too.
Great troops of thought have come and gone, strange gods
Governing in godlessness. Now we see
Cryo-propelled rockets zooming beyond
The sky, their speeds nor Kestrel nor Griffon
Can match. Every memory’s sense fades
Into the dim past, even as we see
What big futurity’s movements see not,
The calm expanses of the blue waiting
For the day-born.” But a sudden change fell
Upon the mood of the flock. They were left
Just six and young Priyankā was frightened
To fly over the far
Or troubled
Not the beauty and wonder of their flight.
Prāmānik assured her that soon they would
Wing across Wāghā and reach inviting
Bharatpur. “I feel glad luminous peace,”
Replied Priyankā, “entering the rhythm
Of our flight, some fragrant worship as if
Made the wind blow through the garden of dreams
Where the flowers are sweet in earnestness
Of smile. Here is a spontaneous land
Full of warm love in which run chanting streams
In great many directions; here absorbed
In silence is heard universal speech,
Even as through the tireless pinions
Hurrying hues of prophetic gleams brighter
Than those of the earlier suns hasten
In abundant light, proclaiming new birth.”
RY Deshpande
5 September 2004
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DeD7ltwvzCs
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H5BMMfGp6yU&feature=related