The borrowed atoms
Not really borrowed though,
would be taken back
Not really taken though.

The solid forms
would whither like gas
into the blue
and you won’t know
where my head
or my toe is.

Every grain of sand
is like every other
So similar will I become
after I decompose
or am burnt
not really ‘I’ though.

The ‘I’ is so meaningless
Isn’t it?
The atoms would be there
The energy would be there
But who would call them his?
Who’d call a lump of them as ‘I’?

The love, the hate,
the justice and injustice
are marked on the forms,
the marks that’ll go away
like a **** with no stink.

- Satyan

The borrowed atoms
Not really borrowed though,
would be taken back
Not really taken though.

The solid forms
would whither like gas
into the blue
and you won’t know
where my head
or my toe is.

Every grain of sand
is like every other
So similar will I become
after I decompose
or am burnt
not really ‘I’ though.

The ‘I’ is so meaningless
Isn’t it?
The atoms would be there
The energy would be there
But who would call them his?
Who’d call a lump of them as ‘I’?

The love, the hate,
the justice and injustice
are marked on the forms,
the marks that’ll go away like a **** with no stink.

The horror echoes in the neglected nooks
between the stained walls of my heart,
smeared in dust and smoke, the mirror tells many truths,
the impermanence, the impermanence of it all,
Hope takes a minute to die,
forever even lesser.

To love is to lay naked with a bullet in his hand,
the heart pounding and bleeding the fallacies,
of love and of hope and of dreams and of every false sunset,
stinking of what we never had and what we will never have.

We die the moment we believe, we believe it lasts,
all in all grows another wallflower
and dies before you notice.

Infinity? Eternity? the shallow truths we made
just to live a little, just to live on.
There is no door, there is no key,
no secret and no escape,
no soul and no mate, no blue and no red,
There never was more than lies
just to live a little, just to live at all.

In the beginning what was it?
In the end what would be at all?
Mouths many do proclaim in vain.

O Buddha
You’ve become an idol
A beautiful one
In an equanimous pose
And I suppose
The buyers find you calm
and shining
The sellers find you profitable
You fill the stomachs
And niches and rooms
You make people jealous of yourself
When they fall in glooms.

But who cares?
Who cares what you spoke?
Who cares what you thought?
They just bought
Your idol
Unspeaking
For if it spoke you
You wouldn't be in those rooms
Your lips would be taped
You’d be broken into pieces
and wiped out with brooms.

Who cares
how deep you dived
into the ocean of curiosity?
with such velocity,
they fear they’d die
if they do the same.

So they accept your idol
Not you
which doesn’t speak you
which doesn’t reason
which is silent
in every season.

Lost confidence in the self,
I looked out for a temple,
With a statue in there,
So powerful so loving,
So benevolent so dear,
So that I could borrow,
Some love some faith,
On the self and shed sorrow,
So that I could succeed tomorrow.

That statue couldn’t talk
That statue couldn’t walk,
That statue was brought,
That statue was bought,
That statue was made,
By a man like me,
And he was paid.

Don’t peep into my mind
If you can.
Don’t dare.
Either
you’d be terrified
at the sight of such darkness,
sparkless it would be,
you’d find no analogy
to explain
you’d refrain
to even speak of it.
You’d run away from me,
imagining me as
a demon manifest
ending all quest
to know me any more
your mind would go sore
shaken would be your core.
You’d want me to not exist
you’d resist to face the fact
of finding my life intact
to find me yet as a part
of this universe
or multiverse.
You’d doubt your god
for his ways
for a thing
like me stays.

Don’t peep into my mind
If you can.
Don’t dare.
Or
you’d fall in love.