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At the Feet of The Mother

The Iron Dictators

I looked for Thee alone, but met my glance
The iron dreadful Four who rule our breath,
Masters of falsehood, Kings of ignorance,
High sovereign Lords of suffering and death.

Whence came these formidable autarchies,
From what inconscient blind Infinity, —
Cold propagandists of a million lies,
Dictators of a world of agony?

Or was it Thou who bor’st the fourfold mask?
Enveloping Thy timeless heart in Time,
Thou hast bound the spirit to its cosmic task,
To find Thee veiled in this tremendous mime.

Thou, only Thou, canst raise the invincible siege,
O Light, O deathless Joy, O rapturous Peace!


Notes on Text
14 November 1939. Two handwritten manuscripts.

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To be spontaneous means not to think, organise, decide and make an effort to realise with the personal will.