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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