We cry that we are weak although
We will not stir our secret wings;
The world is dark - because we are
Blind to the starriness of things.
We pluck our rainbow-tinted plumes
And with their heaven-born beauty try
To fledge nocturnal shafts, and then
Complain `Alas! we cannot fly!'
We mutter `All is dust' or else
With mocking words accost the wise:
`Show us the Sun which shines beyond
The Veil' - and then we close our eyes.
To powers above and powers beneath
In quest of Truth men sue for aid,
Who stand athwart the Light and fear
The shadow that themselves have made.
Oh cry no more that you are weak
But stir and spread your secret wings,
And say `The world is bright, because
We glimpse the starriness of things.'
Soar with your rainbow plumes and reach
That near-far land where all are one,
Where Beauty's face is aye unveiled
And every star shall be a sun.
- Sanghakshita (written circa 1946)