It was Wednesday morning when in search

Of the primordial word he set off

For 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 to a green hill

On the forest verge. And the rivers spoke

In rushing voice of the immortal hush

Wherein is born the creation’s first hymn.

The swan of silver lake on the summit

Of mind lapped the waters of consciousness

And pearl-bright ripples, gentle, prescient,

Entered into eternity’s recess;

And the daemon on the purple airways

Carried tranquil thoughts to the regions

Of turmoilless heaven. In a silence

Deeper than the blue is a metaphor

That widens and widens until, flaming

Through the ideal’s gateway, it becomes

Universal, yet embodied. Wondrous

Is the soul of truth 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.

He lived in its truth-conscient delight.

Topsy had gone to the farmers’ market

Tuesday afternoon to buy a big pound

Of beans; but then she also decided

To pick up fruits,—cherries, plums, oranges

And of course lush grapes straight from Ebb’s vineyard,

The gifts of the season. Her pretty house

Spoke of plenty; also of gadgetry

As if even countering emotions

Were an aspect of its certain working.

The early summer month brought another warmth

And the breeze carrying the golden sun

Vied with the vendors, enthusiastic

In living richness. The state-of-the-art

Mingled the buzz of the place with colours

That, it seemed, life had gathered all its zest

In some spelled activity of the week.

The matrix of human time could become

The artificer of passionate will

Promoting a complex modernity

With robust metaphor of gain. Topsy

Noticed amidst the usual faces

Youthful Michael too, with his largish crock

Filled with honey. It didn’t come from wild bees

Nor from the cute Italian genus

Proficient in nectar collecting,

But from a breed developed in the lab,

A cross between the bee and the glow-worm,

Which the journal calls glow-bee, apian

Wonder indeed, busy through day and night!

So would flourish new markets across sea

And land, in different climes. But Topsy

Also felt in her awed heart three-quarter ton

Weight of the genetic pumpkin favoured

By the food chain establishment. Approve

She would not export of this gluttony

Nor have Venice Beach to the unkempt world.