The immortal Pilot, The mystic danse

Niranjan Guha Roy

The Immortal Pilot

An immortal reckless Rider utterly unconcerned,
Dallying with the fate of his fragile engine,
This vessel of sun-baked mud, a bundle of bones,
Sinews, brawns, hopes, visions and smoldering fire,
Drives it through plains, ravines, deserts
And treacherous marshy lands, crashing through iron gates,
Crushing many homes and castles, old temples
With riotous laughter and glee, relentlessly driving
Through terrible disasters patching and repairing on the way
The exhausted panting chariot,
Till it falls to pieces, broken, smashed, ground to a bloody paste.
Undaunted, the immortal Conductor returns to his lofty mansion,
Meditates for long seasons on how to improve
His frail unsure engine for the next more exciting,
Thrilling, unbridled race without breaking.
The Rider carefully selects the best possible material in his arsenal,
Eliminates all the weak, unreliable parts, replaces them,
Strengthens the frame, seeks inspiration from his Elders,
He builds his new machine with much love and meticulous care.
When the engine begins to purr with a greater power and assurance
Off goes the Rider like a shooting star piercing through stone walls,
Barrages, barricades and fortifications, minefields with rapture.
His exultation in flying through dark and thick forests in a flash
Only increases his fiery zeal to develop far superior performing engines.
Even while driving, he is planning his next unbreakable carrier.
With time, an intimacy, a conscious collaboration happy and bright
Grows between the Immortal Pilot and his faithful perishable craft.
One day in a hour of Grace, the Pilot and his perfected vehicle melt,
Mix and fuse into a golden Splendour exploring hidden Heavens.

The Mystic Dance

When I look at the dark night, I wonder.
Myriads of stars hiding the sleeping God inside,
Waiting to blossom one day as the dry countryside after a rain.
God sleeps in the stone, in bricks, wood and metals,
He rises from the grassy lands with his assuring hands,
He lies under our feet, undisturbed, lives in all the bodies as a Guest.
The inter-galactic space is filled with his life-giving breath.
The sun, moon and the stars and the void,
The million varieties of living forms, invisible beings,
Incalculable forces and movements, broken glasses veil God,
The only indivisible Reality,
In whom there is no past, success, failure or future, timeless,
Filling all time yet not occupying any space, not even a point,
Overflowing the infinite boundless expanses,
In whom there is nothing far, in time or space,
No life or death, none other than himself, companionless,
Ever fulfilled, a bodiless marvel, an inexhaustible opulent existence,
An ocean in movement, a stillness unimaginable.
Myriads of candles twinkling on water, drifting, swirling in circles,
Each one a mighty mystery, an undiminished absolute monarch.
An ever-pure, immaculate splendour holding all in a strong embrace.
Unending dramas on an inscrutable, immobile, constantly shifting,
Rotating, floating deck, sweeping gales, uncontrolled outbursts,
Felicitous eruptions, geysers of perennial light and sweetness,
The mystic dance of the Mother
On the heaving bosom of the Lord in trance.

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