The Bliss of a Romantic Morning as Seen Through the Eye of a Poet in the Mind-Mirror Reflections of his Self-Embodiment: 151st Birth Anniversary of Rabindranath Tagore, Noble Laureate

1934 circa, Rabindranath Tagore, coloured ink on paper

Consciousness-Analogue

There is an automatic template of the mind

That captures images of nature

Through the varltumin camera positioned in the eye

Alpine valleys surrounded by mountains are free to dance speak and laugh

Words are their images in the dreaming soliloquy of their existence

Rivers find their ways in the twining pathways leading to immortality

And the spirit of their substance become starlit summer nights that levitate

Light is light in the clock-arm of alblackica

Romancing the wind in the stone circles of chintamani

Brahman calls Brahman the root cause behind the 11th chapter of Brouhaman

Shakti is singular in the rain wedded months of Baishakh

And as drops of water bring scarlet joy to the heart of the infinitude

The old eagle of the centroid awoke from his sleep in the numberless keys of his destiny

To embrace earth as a miniature in a meta-entangled quantum multiverse

I saw many earths as poets dreaming like him to express the fountain of a superluminal desire

Their words are not mere artefacts but points escaping through a worm-hole

To reach the mother-of-their-origins as they fly out towards their embryonic source

Their consciousness the only-truth carrier in this trance bound journey through nature

Stones pick up idle grass and butterflies, the skies pick their clouds in sacks of rice

Each carrying the other and often huddled together to celebrate life

This we called a momentum: ‘Ananda-Nritya-Sangeet’ of the rasa-lila

Man is tied to his fortune through bonds of friendship

His hands are gifts of nature to be the artist-poet of his own creational multiplex

He grows among hills and trees and worships the sacred crust of His own existence.

Tat-Purusha-Hari-Tat-Sat.

– Joy Roy Choudhury

Notes from Tagore:

‘The morning will surely come, the darkness will vanish and thy voice will pour down in golden streams breaking through the sky.

This is my delight, thus to wait and watch at the wayside where shadow chases light and the rain comes in the wake of summer’. – Gitanjali, 1910, Rabindranath Tagore

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