The hope-noon of my Mother India1My Mother India,
Your pride, your hope-noon,
Your all-transforming crest
Wet with your tears, his human heart.
The thunder-blaze of his volcano-pen
Awoke the sleeping souls
To free their Motherland.
The zenith Leader of the dire revolt,
With rising sparks of Ind was all aglow.
In him we found our altar of sacrifice.
From his works and deeds
Drank we deep delight ambrosial.
SAI 42. (August 27th, 1997)↩
Chinmoy, Sri Aurobindo: The Infinite, Agni Press, 1997