The Butterfly Birth
In gloom and silence underground,
As if into the grave so dark
Dragged yet by the Time’s noose, deathbound…
But in the womb of Mother earth
A breath thrills deep of her mutation —
The flame alive of a winged birth,
The clay’s divine transfiguration:
In that dumb chrysalis of sleep,
In that stark crypt stiffened, imprisoned,
A star grows from the dark dead deep,
A moth of light newborn envisioned:
Suckling the sun-hymn the soul sings,
Cell after cell join up the dire
Fight with death-night to weave the wings
Undying with that prayer-fire:
They sing — and spread the light awing,
They sing — and knit in verse supernal
A face and flesh of shine, they sing
The flame-song of the Bard Eternal
That She can rise from the dead dream
And break the crystal death-cage mortal
And blaze a winged Soul-Sun supreme
And fly the Butterfly Immortal!
17.11.2019
The Mother’s Mahasamadhi Day
Ritam Melgunov
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