The Eye of the Eagle

 

In a torrent of horizons with an eye of dreams

at dawn, without symbols and sounding-boards of contact,

thrills of loneliness passed through,

in a pillar of sky the wings were seeking the boundless.

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And then a new view, with that grandeur of elevation.

It passed its time in circles surveying all,

its eye sowed arrows,

gave birth to soundless poems

in the maelstrom of ineffable splendour,

it soared in the transparency of freedom,

it approached the calm light of night,

it recollected the sun-soaked sun

above care for the haunted carpet of trivial life.

It was our Self, the unknown native of the horizons.

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(Photograph by wikimedia)