Page:The Spirit Of Oriental Poetry.pdf/12

The Spirit Of Oriental Poetry The poet  reveals  to  our  souls  his  own  self-realization,  and  in  an  instant  we  undergo  the  growth of centuries. The power of giving peace to the life—beaten man we see only in our poet; he is as the banyan tree which affords shade to the sun—beaten wayfarer. The poet is not one of us, he is the  messenger  of  God,  His  Prophet;  he  is  God  in  human  clay. In Hindu  phraseology  he  is  an  Avatara. It is born in no one to do what he does. Mohammed, in his self—concentration, talks to angels and gods. No one else can talk like him with the Invisible. The miracles and the miraculous accompany the poet like his shadow. It was as simple for Jesus Christ to heal the sick and raise the dead as it was for those who stood by to watch. The poet has the gift of gods whom we on earth know not; his powers are not acquired, but are as natural to him as light is to the sun. The poet has the whole abundance of heaven at his back and his will is the will of God.

The poet’s  eye  is  so  eternally  fixed  on  the  beauty  within  that  he  sees  outside  objects  in  an  unbroken trance. Shiva is always in samadhi, but as the God opens his eyes, Parvati, his devotee, is ready with  her  bowl  of  green  herb;  he  drinks  and  closes  his  eyes  again! If the  poet’s  ecstasy  is  no  cure  for  the  suffering  of  man,  nothing  else  can  be. His greatest  work  is  to  maintain  His  divine  breath. To him life is the highest altruism.

The poet (or, as we call him, the Guru, the Master, the Buddha, the Christ) fills the hungry soul, and  enriches  the  poor. Desire dies  and  we  are  satiated  and  nourished  by  his  touch. “None may  be  idle  where  the  king—poet  has  pitched  his  tent.”    The  musician,  the  poem—maker,  the  dancer, the singer