It is really a matter of reckoning and self-introspection to know that Geoge William Russell (1867-1935) wrote what we could not then. A great poet, his poetry was smeared with Eastern mysticism, Upanishadic vision and a longing to be with Brahmanic knowledge of the self. As Irish poet, he was splendidly mystical and spiritual so rarely endowed with such a creative faculty, a poet par excellence.

The Irish poet wrote his poems on Dawn, Om, Maya, the Oversoul, Krishna and so on and we could not admire and appreciate it prescribing it for our students, putting it on the syllabus, into the courses of studies, how our boards of studies and who the members without having a strong sense of history and culture, Indian thought and tradition! How the framing of their syllabus that they could not induct in the things of Indianness and Indian culture! 

Om, as a poem surprises us with its thought and content. It grew faint the yellow buds of light, flickering it far beyond the snow and over the shadowy white the morn glimmered like a primrose. How is the imagery of light breaking upon the snowy whites wrapped over, so shrouded in mystery and mist, the icy overlapping the heights and in dark gloom?

But with the sighting of the miracle or the mystery surrounding around, within an Indian vale, he heard the child saying sweetly “Om”, closing the eyes and with the folded hands praying as a Suryanamaskar or he seeming to be with peace encompassing him. A Blakian boy, innocent child with samskara, so pure and chaste, reverberating Om, the eyes closed down in an obeisance and if you sit and do it loosening your hands on your thighs, the breath inhaled unto the last and exhaled with the Om murmuring of the soul or the spirit.

How beautiful is it to feel the whole Brahmanda, the Creation of His and it is vibrating with Om! Om, the breath of ours, the Life-breath, we are taking and releasing forgetting all our cares and worries, freeing the mind and the brain. Pause and say, Om, holding your breath and releasing accordingly, reserving a few moments if not a few minutes for meditation, peace and calm composure.

This is the word which Brahma outbreaths and discharges with the dawn and the succeeding night and from the darkness breaks it the orbs of light breaking the lull.

But the periphery of the world lies it drawn with beauty, youth, love and wisdom holding their sway one by one and one lives to grow and keeps up wandering from age to age to know the truth, breaking the cycle of every enchantment. Wisdom takes him to where the mind will dwell upon. Beauty has a lust of its own. Love too binds the soul. But everything has a circle of its own.

The voice of the earth got stilled and the child got it lifted to the Wise opining him otherwise. A strange spirit filled his spirits with delight and Brahm seemed to be looking from his shining eyes.

Russell has really felt the beauty and mystery of Om which is but a medium of the realization of Brahm and this knowledge of Brahm is it all for to be knowledgeable.

Faint grew the yellow buds of light
Far flickering beyond the snows,
As leaning o’er the shadowy white
Morn glimmered like a pale primrose.

Within an Indian vale below        
A child said “OM” with tender heart,
Watching with loving eyes the glow
In dayshine fade and night depart.

The word which Brahma at his dawn
Outbreathes and endeth at his night,        
Whose tide of sound so rolling on
Gives birth to orbs of pearly light;

And beauty, wisdom, love, and youth,
By its enchantment gathered grow
In agelong wandering to the truth,      
Through many a cycle’s ebb and flow.

And here the voice of earth was stilled,
The child was lifted to the Wise:
A strange delight his spirit filled,
And Brahm looked from his shining eyes.  

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