While passing through Sri Aurobindo's Room1No more the tempest howls upon my mind;
Thy emerald shower descends and hugs my soul.
I tear my ire and pride and black despair.
I view the quintessence of the world's flood-peace
Around Thy trance-bound couch majestic, sweet.
Thy august Voice, in each hush-gap, declares,
"O son of the All, in you the Infinite.
I now unveil the truth that of Nectar-Bliss
You all are bloomed, in Bliss you dwell and retire
In her colossal core when your play is done."
SAI 33. (1955)↩
Chinmoy, Sri Aurobindo: The Infinite, Agni Press, 1997