Wild Duck
The one to whom peace and solitude
Are known for ever, perfectly,
You, Milarepa, Longchenpa,
The Guru to whom all things are known,
The one who shows the single truth,
You I remember, I, your son.
Crying from an alien island.
The wild duck, companionless,
Cries out in desolate loneliness,
And flies alone, wings outspread,
Soaring in the boundless sky.
In the womb beyond the one and many
Yours is the inner loneliness,
And yours alone the emptiness
Within and everywhere around.
The mountainside alone creates
The clouds that change the rain, the two
That never go beyond the one,
So soar away, wild duck, alone.
Thunder resounding everywhere
Is only the elements at play,
The four expressing the sound of silence.
The hailstones triangular,
The black clouds and the storm’s blast
Are earthbound only, wild duck,
So do not fall a prey to doubt
But get you gone upon your flight.
The waters of the sunset lie
Saffron-painted, beautiful,
And yet unchanging is the light
And dignity of the sun; so cut
The cord that joins the day and night,
And stretch your wings and fly, wild duck.
The moon’s rays spread over the ocean
And heaven and earth smile: the cool
And gentle breeze moves over them,
But you are young and far from home,
Wild duck. So stretch your wings alone
And travel on the path to nowhere.
From Mudra, pages 34 to 35. (24 June 1965)
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