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I have been writing poems since I was a small child. Who knows, perhaps even now I have not surpassed that infancy stage, although I have written hundreds and thousands of poems. Some of my critics criticise me for writing hundreds of poems in the short span of twenty-four hours. They feel that perfection is the utmost need. They say, “How can one write 843 poems in one day and, at the same time, dream of perfection? Is it not absurdity on the face of it?”

To some extent, this is absolutely true. But in my humble defence, I wish to say this: although I write poems, I am not a poet and I do not want to become a poet. Although I have composed hundreds of songs, I am not a composer and I do not want to become a composer. I have completed thousands and thousands of paintings, yet I do not dare to claim to be an artist. Truth to tell, I do not want to become an artist.

Then what do I want to become? I want to become a football. Here in America you call it a soccer ball. When I was in India, I happened to be a good footballer. Still I remember the experiences that I had in those days. While kicking the ball very hard, I was consumed with a strong desire to become a football and be kicked most powerfully by my Beloved Supreme. I felt that the harder He kicked me, the greater would be my joy. Here also, in my life of aspiration and dedication, my only prayer, my only aspiration, is to become a football and be kicked every day, every hour, every minute and every second by my Beloved Supreme. I wish to become a supremely devoted and supremely self-giving instrument of His. While utilising me as an instrument of His, if He wants me to play the role of a poet or singer or musician or artist, then I am always at His behest. To fulfil His Command in His own Way is my only aspiration.

The Sanskrit word for poet is _kavi;_ a kavi is he who envisions. What does he envision? He envisions the truth — the truth in its seed-form, its potentiality. He envisions the seed-truth in its possibilities and in its inevitabilities. What is truth? Truth is happiness in progress. And what is progress? Progress is our constant self-giving. We represent both the finite and the Infinite. The self-giving of the finite to the Infinite is the supreme progress of the finite, and the self-giving of the Infinite to the finite is the supreme progress of the Infinite. When the finite offers its reality-existence to the Infinite, in return it receives a fruitful smile. And when the Infinite offers its reality-existence to the finite, in return it receives a soulful cry. This soulful cry and fruitful smile are the imperishable, incomparable, eternal and immortal treasures of the Absolute Supreme.


  1. PRH 8. 15 January 1978.

Sri Chinmoy, Poetry: My Rainbow-Heart-Dreams, Perfection-Glory Press, Augsburg., 1993