He drank the great fire that flows from blazing nipples of heaven,

And as if it were a dream his second mother gathered his hair;

A soul that burns up on its own tail is climbing the Unknown,

And into the hollow plunges the chariot of the flame-wheel;

He clapped his hand as though ensued lightning from the clouds,

But the birds were young and who would nestle them in the winter?

I was told that the crevasses were filled with the gold of the season,

Hence the path of his journeying disappeared into the Nowhere;

Not from the early sea but from the stir of the first sound he jumped,

And in the belly of laughter moved the gods of mediaeval fates;

He delved into the flint and the eye of the telescope was born,

Yet far there is a darker feature dotting the viewless Infinity;

These stars are constantly escaping the network of the night,

But there is a mystery locked in gulf-stream of a sombre vision;

They waltzed together though they had no reason’s gleaming feet,

And in the things of Death were affixed the horns of the Taurus,

Riding on wings of the seer-will he reached the truth of his being,

And from the deepening chasm surged a cry that seemed the sorrow’s;

Under the crown of silence he saw a vast smile illumining the sky,

And a hooded power hissed guarding the diamond of the cave;

He offered his heart like a triple ray of splendour to the Sun,

And tearing the awesome nudity rose the All-Negation’s Form;

Then indeed Vamadeva had immortal births in the days of time,

Even as would a hawk conquer the hill with talons of sharp ecstasy.

RY Deshpande

21 February 1982