SAIEN

From inner spaces I call you, sweet love, You descend a cascade of light from above, Asking for your touch everywhere, I lie quenched beyond all care, Till the untouched parts call out to you, From their light burnt brethren taking the cue. You smile and say, “Not yet, The wood in parts is still wet.” Unperturbed in contentment I wait, At the overhead lucent gate, Till bit by bit you make me pure gold. Then nothing in me will escape your fold. - Anahita Sanjana (India)

“ Tagore has been a wayfarer towards the same goal as ours in his own way...” ( Sri Aurobindo) Sri Aurobindo wrote these words whose significance is often overlooked by the masses. Both Tagore – The World Poet and Sri Aurobindo – The Mystic shared the same purpose in their lives. Rabindranath met Sri Aurobindo at Pondicherry and shared his homage through his poem “Namaskar”: অরবিন্দ ,  রবীন্দ্রের   লহ   নমস্কার !   (Rabindranath, O Aurobindo, bows to thee!) There were innumerable parallels in their lives.   The year 1905 deeply affected both of them – the aftermath of partition of Bengal. Streets were crowded in Kolkata, the masses joined together, marching and singing in protest opposing the aggressively bitter move of the British Government. Then comes the year 1914 – The First World War when nature was silently breaking the patterns evolving into the new. Tagore was immersed into the forces of nature and their workings at the material level on earth as expres...

The body is a wandering, mortal temple Whose walls grow in size and tremble with age, The two even pillars uphold its sacred frame,   Human form, a marvellous tabernacle. The rising hands, the gopuram in a holy cascade, The face, serene and still, the temple’s sacred façade; The eyes, twin lamps illumining its inner colonnade, The nose, the guiding ridge of the tower in its upward braid. The fingers, the fine relics that serve the temple’s art; The lungs, deep wells sustaining every sacred part; The stomach, the homa-kunda where life’s offerings flame; The heart, the sanctum sanctorum where the soul  rests in its eternal aim. Though each body bears a shrine, crafted with a sacred grace, Yet travel s  far in longing, seeking holiness in every place; From pillar to post wandering, yearning for a fleeting spark, Though the silent Divine within waits in stillness, glowing through the dark. And when the outer temple quivers, weakened and worn,   The inner deity rises, u...