GOD AT POONA

 
Poona. And from the balcony of my room
A full moon rising through the trees. Poona:
Home of the Word; of the purest Word; that Word,
Which translated into speech, became
Namadev's song. Round here also, the song
Was Bhanudas, Tukaram, Ramdas, and the rest,
Singing for God's ears the song which pleases Him. —
"My beloved sons with whom —" the same sons
Who shouted together in the shout which was creation;
Which shattered the Darkness into that first lyric song
Called Morning.

       Here was Baba born; and here, Babajan
Of woman's form, ancient in years, with one kiss
Awoke him while yet a youth to his glory in God;
And Upasni Maharaj, with a stone's singing flight,
Brought him down again from God to work for Man:
A Christ, perfect in glory, infinite and supreme;
Perfect in detailed craft of service.

In the courtyard under my window
A man squats on the ground under the sleek
Black hulk of a buffalo, and starts milking her.
And the climbing moon now above the tops of the trees. —
Tomorrow will rise the causal Sun of all moons
And earths and lives — and my eyes
Are expected to bear his gentle beams,
Each love I have gathered, I will lay at his pure feet.

And now, 'tis dawn. Another first morning:
With the trees crowded with bird-song; voices
In the street; a train whistle and the other engine noises;
And a bullock-cart with its tinkle of little bells:
From earth's hive God sends out His pollen and honey gatherers.

Passage to more than India — Passage
To the very heart-fibres of my own soul;
To the Soul of my soul, the Eye of the sun
Who turns the earth and awakens each teeming day;
Whose sweet Name parches my throat, and heaps fire
Upon my already burning skull of iron of head,
Cauldron of rivers of sweet cooling tears.

             WHOM
I now met again, seated on the platform
Of Poona railway station, radiant and garlanded,
Receiving the teared-bright devotion of his devotees.
I too, by some strange fortune, his sweet embrace.