Poems By Arjava

Moonrise In The Night Of Maya

ONLY the darkest cloud grows luminous with lightning.

And to end the rain-girt hours the weather-gleam is brightening

Faint margins of the mist-enfolded sky.

Not where a paltering mirage had unfurled

Deceptive palms dwelt they who would transmute

The bars of Babel and the separate grave.

Night-farer blindly groping until the moon-dawn wave

Unearthly wings of dreamlight (how howlet-soft they fly

Across all feigned chasms through Oneness absolute !) ;

Athwart their leaping wing way no arrowed song is hurled

To mar the loom of Silence that claims each cancelled cry,—

Woven to build the raiment of a world

Where lonely seeking gathers golden fruit.