Winged birds of time

Winged birds of time fly on,
Flying to the rising sun and turning back at dusk:
A long journey it seems to reach back at starting point-
Winged birds, time’s creatures, fly on
The acceptance of the Master
I, that am, forever still, know –
Of no journey’s start, nor end, nor flight.
Your outspanning wings, measuring the sky,
Swift and slow, slow and swift,
Smiling at the wingless snail treasuring earth;
Both, in smog or dirt, in motion bound
I, that am, forever still, know-
Of no measure, nor motion, neither doing’s undoing.
Bewildered you in your wingedness, the wingless too-
Chained by grooves of motion’s air and earth –
Tossed and twirled and set afire, seemingly so new
To fly on, to plod on, through many a life and birth
I, that am, forever still, know-
Of no air, nor earth, nor life nor birth, still ever new

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