Book of the Worlds

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Book of the Worlds

Poem — An Invocation to The Master #192

Once my Sire was perusing the Book of the Worlds,
My toddler frame necked into its vast pages,
“What is here?”, asked I, “What purport is herein?”
He replied, “Here the record of the ages gone,

Of all the low and high that has ever been,
All the joy and glory and splendour seen,
Glimpse these then and ponder deep,
Of what drift and curve thou shalt keep.”

The script was strange, many-hued letterings
There were, yet an outline I caught of shapes
That to my yet human eye appeared dear;
Oh how many marvels crowded that air!

I saw them all, the ancestors proud of humanity,
Brows of calm and haughty foreheads aplenty,
Eyes that could part every veil by a gaze
And wills that could endure time’s dire maze.

I saw the clod give miraculous birth to life,
Witnessed the immense laborious strife
To persist form against innumerable odds,
Oh, how poignant an effort was Nature’s.

I saw the animal give birth to man of mind,
The strange hybrid earth and heaven made,
A breathing thinking clay, a dying immortal,
In him reposed the god and the asura fatal,

Human the mask for the djinn and the angel,
Traveller from heaven passing through hell!
Then caught my eye from those turning pages
Heroes of men, warriors and poets and sages.

I saw them, the pioneers of the mystic fire,
Rishis of the Veda who caught aspiration’s lever,
Mighty names who by their labour aid
All the subtle processes of manifest God.

“Oh to aspire like these”, cried I, “To burn
Like them undimmed, as blazes the sun!”
“Gaze yet”, said my Sire to frame growing
Out of the toddler mould into a youngling.

The senses had opened and passions flowed,
I saw now heroic swords by blood anointed,
Quivers never emptied and magical bows
Beings of honour fulfilling warrior vows.

“Oh such swiftness and unflagging strength 
Grant, let my arm dispense justice as Thou giveth”
“Gaze yet”, said my Sire infinitely patient,
“For thou must know all the soul’s extent”

My heart’s flower had bloomed and I knew
All the allure of love and beauty’s retinue.
The poets I saw, minstrels of rapturous song,
Hymners from heaven truth-bearing.

“Oh to sing as these, of hope and love
To parched hearts a happy reprieve give!”
“Gaze yet”, said He to my frame matured
For in gazing of pages my years had passed.

Now I saw them, the prophets of the ages,
They who pivot the world to truth’s ways,
Moulding the lives of men like pliant clay,
They who rein in a sliver of the far ray.

“Oh like them, names burnished in memory,
By whom men endure the fates and misery!”
“Gaze yet, inconstant fool”, chided He,
And I wondered what is that I didn’t see!

My visage appeared to mine mind’s eye,
A stranger to myself, grey and wisened was I.
Then I saw when my passion fevers died
Lettering the pages were my Master’s hand.

My pride was gone, my heart was smitten,
My soul fell to His feet in surrender prone,
“Sire, Sire”, cried I, “Not hero or the sage,
Nor eloquent poet or warrior of pious rage,

Through every life of every Yuga’s cycle
Only possess me as Thy inking quill,
Hold and possess me whole to Thy purpose
May all my lives only be to Thy will express.”

Declared He, “Through all thy passions My will shall be,
For I helm thy soul and all through eternity.
Bear for now life and body and the name
Until I summon thee to My immortal home.”