Glory to Them

Glory to the Mother Divine
Glory to Sri Aurobindo

Ever welcome to my kneeling soul and heart in adoration.
O Secret Spirit, subtler than the subtlest as You are,
Yet You have inhabited these fragile earthen frames,
To make Yourself tangible, accessible to the soul of man.
You speak through them each word they say,
You pour through them the molten gold of an invisible Sun.
O Secret Spirit, before I caught a glimpse of Them,
Arranged by a lucky accident, like a lost tragic note
Cry moaning in the hopeless night, my desolate life
Was a tedious stretch of a wretched play,
A huge senseless waste, a perpetual gnawing affliction.
Had I not met Them and borne Their transmuting gaze,
O Secret Spirit, I could never, never have believed
That the Divine is so wonderful, all love and compassion.
Like a passionate moth burning madly
For the embrace of Fire, how my whole being
Yearns to be possessed by His Sweetness till nothing,
Nothing shall be left of the sordid amalgam that is myself.
O Secret merciful Spirit, in answer to my desperate longing,
You have pressed a tiny concealed Spring.
A flow of cleansing waters stream down from the benign Peaks,
Melt and purify the petrified filth and gloom of the ages.
My soul now deeply satisfied, a happy one-note hymn of faith,
Throbs faintly with gratitude, drowned in the symphony of Grace.
O Secret Spirit, penetrating the vast Universe and beyond,
All its nooks and corners with Your breathing Presence,
Substance of dreams, realities and abysmal mysteries,
From the most Luminous high Divinities
To the tenebrous God-denying almighties,
You are always the same intimate, nameless Supreme.
I see You, feel and touch You and hear Your voice,
Yet You are the strangest of the strangers, I have ever met.
Do I exist? It makes me laugh, such a ridiculous question.
In Your boundless unbroken changeless Self-extension,
An isotope of an old shattered atom, pulsating with hope
For the billionth of an undying second that is myself.
No, I do not exist yet this moment is rich and poignant.
O Secret Self, from You I am born, Your body’s portion, in You
I disappear like the exalted sprays
Falling back into the Ocean in suspense.
When I contemplate the endless sacred procession
Of Your fugitive names and faces on the cinerama of Time,
Then, then only I vibrate and my life even so insignificant
Glows and burns in ecstasy like a meteor in explosion.
Glory to You, my Friend, Sweetheart, Master, Guide and Queen,
Glory to Your Messengers, Emanations and Incarnations.
Glory to the earthly bodies filled with the Holy Spirit.

****

Niranjan Guha Roy
 

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