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Golden Daughter*
At the day-end behold the Golden Daughter of Imagination — She sits alone under the Tree of Life. A form of the Truth of Being has risen before her rocking there like a lake And on it is her unwinking gaze. But from the unfathomed Abyss where it was buried, upsurges A tale of lamentation, a torrent-lightning passion, A melancholy held in the flowing blood of the veins, — A curse thrown from a throat of light. The rivers of a wind that has lost its perfumes are bearing away On their waves the Mantra-rays that were her ornaments Into the blue self-born sea of the silent Dawn; The ceaseless vibration-scroll of a hidden Sun Creates within her, where all is a magic incantation, A picture of the transcendent Mystery1 — that luminous laughter Is like the voice of a gold-fretted flute from the inmost heart of the Creator. * Nirodbaran 1 A mystery-picture of the Transcendent Page – 389 |