Night of a dense wind last night – night of a countless constellations:
All night the wide wind has played in my mosquito-net.
Mosquito-net has swelled sometimes like the belly of the monsoonic sea.
Sometimes tearing from the bed
Has wanted to fly in the direction of the constellations.
Sometimes it seemed to me – perhaps in half-sleep – above my head there is no mosquito-net.
Cleaving to the lap of Arcturus in the ocean of the blue wind like a white swan it is flying.
Was such a wonderful night last night.
All the dead constellations had awoken last night – not a gap of one grain was there in the sky
Faces of all the faded dead loved ones of the earth I have seen in those constellations:
Like on the crest of the uswattha tree in the dark night dew-wetted eyes of the male eagle lover were glittering all the constellations.
Like on the shoulder of the Queen of Babylon on a moon-drenched night luminous skin of the cheetah was shining the vast sky.
Was such a strange night last night.
Those constellations that on the sky’s breast a thousand thousand years earlier had died,
They too have through the window a countless dead skies brought with them.
Those beauties whom I have in Assyria, Egypt, Bidisha seen dying
Last night they very far away in the limit of the sky in mist and mist tall spears in their hands holding have stood themselves in rows as if –
To oppress Death?
Deep victory of Life to express?
Fearsome profound column of Love to erect?
Immobile, overwhelmed I have become.
The mighty blue torment of last night has torn me apart as if.
Within the boundless outspread wings of the sky
Earth like an insect has been wiped out last night
And mad wind has from the breast of the sky descended
Into my window in tonnes
Like at the cry of the lion a countless zebras in the green upthrow of the field.
My breast has been filled full with scent of the green grass of the spread-out-wide veldt.
With pungency of the ten-directions-flooding protean sun.
Like roar of mad-for-mating tigress with the agitated vast living hairy joy of the Dark.
With the terrible blue madness of living.
My soul tearing from the earth flew off
In ocean of the blue wind like a mad bloated balloon went flying,
The mast of a distant constellation to star and star took flying,
Like a furious vulture.
