Inspirations
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Active, inspired by her he speaks and moves;
His deeds obey her heart's unspoken demands;
O Sun-Word, thou shalt raise the earth-soul to Light
A mightier race shall inhabit the mortal's world.

-Savitri

Inspirations - The Galleria

Poems by R Y Deshpande

 

She is Savitri

Incarnate in the beauty and joy of the Rose,

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 Godís hour.

This Fire

This fire was kindled long before Time was born,

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.