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This is another poem of the collection A Poem of Her Own: Voices of American Women Yesterday and Today edited by Catherine Clinton. I was inspired by it to write the first of three spiritually themed poems. My poem is based on an anecdote given by my spiritual teacher Eknath Easwaran talking about sunset in his native Kerala, India and the idea of keeping the spiritual flame alit amidst the worldly distractions (wind).
An Hymn to the Evening by Phillis Wheatley
Soon as the sun forsook the eastern main
The pealing thunder shook the heav'nly plain;
Majestic grandeur! From the zephyr's wing,
Exhales the incense of the blooming spring.
Soft purl the streams, the birds renew their notes,
And through the air their mingled music floats.
Through all the heav'ns what beauteous dies are spread!
But the west glories in the deepest red:
So may our breasts with ev'ry virtue glow,
The living temples of our God below!
Fill'd with the praise of him who gives the light,
And draws the sable curtains of the night,
Let placid slumbers sooth each weary mind,
At morn to wake more heav'nly, more refin'd;
So shall the labours of the day begin
More pure, more guarded from the snares of sin.
Night's leaden sceptre seals my drowsy eyes,
Then cease, my song, till fair Aurora rise.
sari sky by okapi
soon as long day forsakes its stubborn grasp
and waking twilight shakes off slumber’s clasp;
explosive chroma! from the sunset’s kiss
burst forth a sudden splendor and a bliss.
unfurls the sky, bright sari silks unwind,
and Mother Divine extends to colorblind.
through all the heav’n what beauteous dyes are spread
celestial tapestry in tangled thread
a moment’s joy to bless and to remind
before all falls under night’s velvet bind
humble lamps alit, of oil and of wick,
well-shielded by fingers tapering to thick
from wild prevailing winds and petty draughts
flames shepherded by devout handicrafts
kept burning, no matter the gusts, the flame
kept churning, despite rage and lusts, the name
the holy name, the temperate flame, held by
until another dusk, another sari sky
An Hymn to the Evening by Phillis Wheatley
Soon as the sun forsook the eastern main
The pealing thunder shook the heav'nly plain;
Majestic grandeur! From the zephyr's wing,
Exhales the incense of the blooming spring.
Soft purl the streams, the birds renew their notes,
And through the air their mingled music floats.
Through all the heav'ns what beauteous dies are spread!
But the west glories in the deepest red:
So may our breasts with ev'ry virtue glow,
The living temples of our God below!
Fill'd with the praise of him who gives the light,
And draws the sable curtains of the night,
Let placid slumbers sooth each weary mind,
At morn to wake more heav'nly, more refin'd;
So shall the labours of the day begin
More pure, more guarded from the snares of sin.
Night's leaden sceptre seals my drowsy eyes,
Then cease, my song, till fair Aurora rise.
sari sky by okapi
soon as long day forsakes its stubborn grasp
and waking twilight shakes off slumber’s clasp;
explosive chroma! from the sunset’s kiss
burst forth a sudden splendor and a bliss.
unfurls the sky, bright sari silks unwind,
and Mother Divine extends to colorblind.
through all the heav’n what beauteous dyes are spread
celestial tapestry in tangled thread
a moment’s joy to bless and to remind
before all falls under night’s velvet bind
humble lamps alit, of oil and of wick,
well-shielded by fingers tapering to thick
from wild prevailing winds and petty draughts
flames shepherded by devout handicrafts
kept burning, no matter the gusts, the flame
kept churning, despite rage and lusts, the name
the holy name, the temperate flame, held by
until another dusk, another sari sky
