All Men are Echoes
All men are echoes, the wave most recent
Of deeds long past, their authors beyond repent.
As in a crucible cast these mixtured selves
As a seething ghostly form yet dwells.
Our fated self in the All is a tiny point
By this souled knot is to all the past joint.
Body bears the memory of past gestures
Of acts base and vile in various vestures.
Arise these again in dream and day
Polluting our selves in every way.
This impasse, our Gordion Knot of fable,
By what poise or ruse we this disable?
Silent the Purusha, Prakriti blindly obedient
Gate our being, and becomings by them lent.
A braided act body and soul must make
Compel by will and fire to collaborate.
By long seasons of undulating fortune
Through hell climes we singly importune.
By a churn within these rooted memories
Arise and burn and our self empties.
We are another than what we seem
More than what our past could deem.
Scripted by a Will other than ancestry
A venturing soul beyond every biology.
We are smiths of God’s impending future
His agents of change and a tireless hammer.
A glance from Him was our divine sanction,
From our station beyond time for world-action.