IN THE SHADOWED NIGHT [1]
Sometimes
in the shadowed night
I become spirit.
The walls, the bars, the gratings dissolve into light
and I unloose my soul
and fly through the inner darkness of my being.
I become transparent,
a bright shadow,
a bird of dreams singing from the tree of life.
THE KNIFE OF MY MIND [2]
I have no present.
I have only a past
and, perhaps, a future.
The present has been taken from me.
I’m left in an empty space whose darkness
I carve at with the knife of my mind.
I must carve myself anew
out of the razor-wire nothingness.
I will know the ecstasy
and the pain
of freedom.
I will be ordinary again.
Yes, ordinary,
that terrifying condition,
where all is possibility,
where the present exists and must be faced.
AN EAGLE’S CRY [3]
Listen to me!
Listen!
I am the Indian voice.
Hear me crying out of the wind,
Hear me crying out of the silence.
I am the Indian voice.
Listen to me!
I speak for our ancestors.
They cry out to you from the unstill grave.
I speak for the children yet unborn.
They cry out to you from the unspoken silence.
I am the Indian voice.
Listen to me!
I am a chorus of millions.
Hear us!
Our eagle cry will not be stilled!
We are your own conscience calling to you.
We are you yourself
crying unheard within you.
Let my unheard voice be heard.
Let me speak in my heart and the words be heard
whispering on the wind to millions,
to all who care,
to all with ears to hear
and hearts to beat as one
with mine.
Put your ear to the earth,
and hear my heart beating there.
Put your ear to the wind
and hear me speaking there.
We are the voice of the earth,
of the future,
of the Mystery.
Sometimes
in the shadowed night
I become spirit.
The walls, the bars, the gratings dissolve into light
and I unloose my soul
and fly through the inner darkness of my being.
I become transparent,
a bright shadow,
a bird of dreams singing from the tree of life.
THE KNIFE OF MY MIND [2]
I have no present.
I have only a past
and, perhaps, a future.
The present has been taken from me.
I’m left in an empty space whose darkness
I carve at with the knife of my mind.
I must carve myself anew
out of the razor-wire nothingness.
I will know the ecstasy
and the pain
of freedom.
I will be ordinary again.
Yes, ordinary,
that terrifying condition,
where all is possibility,
where the present exists and must be faced.
AN EAGLE’S CRY [3]
Listen to me!
Listen!
I am the Indian voice.
Hear me crying out of the wind,
Hear me crying out of the silence.
I am the Indian voice.
Listen to me!
I speak for our ancestors.
They cry out to you from the unstill grave.
I speak for the children yet unborn.
They cry out to you from the unspoken silence.
I am the Indian voice.
Listen to me!
I am a chorus of millions.
Hear us!
Our eagle cry will not be stilled!
We are your own conscience calling to you.
We are you yourself
crying unheard within you.
Let my unheard voice be heard.
Let me speak in my heart and the words be heard
whispering on the wind to millions,
to all who care,
to all with ears to hear
and hearts to beat as one
with mine.
Put your ear to the earth,
and hear my heart beating there.
Put your ear to the wind
and hear me speaking there.
We are the voice of the earth,
of the future,
of the Mystery.
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[1] excerpt from the chapter # 5
[2] excerpt from the chapter # 6
[3] excerpt from the chapter # 10