Poems
THEME/S
Above all time he towers..., Voronoff
Will ask: "How can the Omnipotent have no lust,
When lust is the sole sign of potency?"
Herr Freud will find the eternity n his eyes
Haunted by memories of his mother's womb—
And the oneness with the Ancient of Days
An outrage dreamed upon his grandmother!
Then Doctor Bates will say, "He blinks so well—
Perfectly simple why he sees all truth!"
And face-cream makers want his recipe
Of the skin growing fairer with Light's touch.
When rhythms like singing flame; break from his mouth
Even though his beard is chilled with age's snow.
The Faculty of Science woders what
Complex of Vitamins A, B or C
Is the food of his sun-thought—they never guess
The Alpha and the Omega of the world
Can from beyond the cries of birth and death
Vitamin him with the Golden Word made flesh.
A miracle of glandular therapy
He seems, when laughing at the grave's deep threat
As at the silly gape of a vast fool :
How shall they see the ductlessness divine
Hidden like lotuses of a viewless moon,
Secreting nectars that can keep the clay
Hormoned with blissful immortality?
And if he lays the hand which heals the heart
Of chronic sorrow and acute desire,
They call him hypnotist sending Drain-waves
To drown in cool oblivion: do they know
That he awakes with benedictior's palm
Sudden remembrance of the ecstatic soul
Lost in the unlustred labyrinth of the limbs
And seeking vainly for its godlike crown?...
Page 262
O pack of learned dolts who waste your eyes
looking for body, body everywhere.
Will you feel never that He who made clay-form
Can make Himself a little form of clay
To unveil the Infinite which has fathered all
By skill beyond the ape-grafting Voronoff
And far above the power Jung can grant
The beast in us to sit in mind's bright cage,
Mating with dreams instead of female folk?
O gropers for the key to physical secrets.
Might not the physical open like a door
Through which the Eternal comes out of the unknown?
If you would gauge the grandeur of this Man,
Look deep within yourselves while watching him:
Not by the probing knife or microscope
Or psycho-analysis' small prurient prick
But by the ineffable trance you'll touch the abyss
Of the shining Seed that flowers in the Avatar!
29.5.48
Page 263
Home
Disciples
Amal Kiran
Books
Share your feedback. Help us improve. Or ask a question.