Shri Aurobindo Poem Savitri (I. 4)

The All-Blissful bore to be insensible. 

Incarnate in a world of strife and pain, 

He puts on joy and sorrow like a robe 

And drinks experience like a strengthening wine. 

He whose transcendence rules the pregnant Vasts, 

Prescient now dwells in our subliminal depths, 

A luminous individual Power, alone. 

The Absolute, the Perfect, the Alone 

Has called out of the Silence his mute Force 

Where she lay in the featureless and formless hush 

Guarding from Time by her immobile sleep 

The ineffable puissance of his solitude. 

The Absolute, the Perfect, the Alone 

Has entered with his silence into space: 

He has fashioned these countless persons of one self; 

He has built a million figures of his power; 

He lives in all, who lived in his Vast alone; 

Space is himself and Time is only he. 

The Absolute, the Perfect, the Immune, 

One who is in us as our secret self, 

Our mask of imperfection has assumed, 

He has made this tenement of flesh his own, 

His image in the human measure cast 

That to his divine measure we might rise; 

Then in a figure of divinity 

The Maker shall recast us and impose 

A plan of godhead on the mortal’s mould 

Lifting our finite minds to his infinite, 

Touching the moment with eternity. 

This transfiguration is earth’s due to heaven: 

A mutual debt binds man to the Supreme: 

His nature we must put on as he put ours; 

We are sons of God and must be even as he: 

His human portion, we must grow divine. 

Our life is a paradox with God for key.