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Satyan Sharma Aug 2015
I am a drop.

No, smaller than that,

I am half a drop.

Nah, even smaller,

I am a molecule.

Not yet, zoom out a bit more.

I am an atom, right?

How ‘bout a nucleus?

Proton is a better option.

Or perhaps something,

Smaller than a proton,

Or any subatomic particle?

What’s the smallest?

Is the smallest really the smallest?

May be fifty years,

Or hundred years from now, or more

Would there be a new smallest,

I think that would be me.

The ‘me’ in front of the all pervading sky

The all pervading hostility of this universe,

Or perhaps of a multiverse.

Far would be destroyed my glory,

By even a minute of such an imagination,

My blown up ego would be blown up.


Gone is my glory,

blown up is my blown up ego,

humbled am I.

Neither a king,

Nor even a slave,

who am I?

how would I know?

when would I know?

when could I perceive,

without ‘me’ at the centre?

without ‘me’ seeing ‘me’?

perhaps never,

perhaps sometime!

Am I a ‘who’?

Or am I a ‘what’?

How does it even matter

In front of all the existence?


But

What if I am the biggest?

Bigger than the mountain

Bigger than the sun

Bigger than this galaxy

Or even the universe?

What if I am the universe or the multiverse,

and kept from knowing it?

Ah! what a mystery!

Humbled am I

In front of the great mystery

Of not ‘that’ or ‘this’

But of ‘I’.

So never ask me this;

Who are you?

For I shall go silent

and never get back to you.

Or shall I ever get back to you,

what a celebration would that be?

The greatest celebration of my life,

The greatest celebration of my being.


But

What if I don’t even exist?

Or I am just this & nothing else?

May be I am a chaos,

that seems to be ordered.

May be I am an order,

that seems to be a chaos.

May be I am both.

Or may be none.

When would I know the truth?

Or may be I know the truth,

Just pretending not to know it.

May be I am the truth,

seeking out my own self.

Or a lie,

pretending to be the truth.

May be I am all that I thought,

May be I am none.


May be all I just need,

is to take a nap,

and get back to work.
Satyan Sharma Aug 2015
Blacker than the black is my white,

Deeper than the earth’s core is my flight,

Brighter than the day is my night,

Shorter than an electron is my height.


Stupid or crazy though it may sound,

We’ve all got a bush to beat around,

It’s all pictures & imagination,

What’s a wise or stupid creation?


Close so close is the ultimate real,

Yet so far ’cause our gates so shut,

It’s just a peep what we finalise,

As the ultimate truth, but.


I cannot say what I am,

I’ve made a story, a lyric for it,

It could be false like many,

But just as the truth, so uncanny.
Satyan Sharma Aug 2015
In awe,

I look at that bird.

What is her umwelt?

What does life mean to her?

What am I to her?

Does she do poetry?

If yes, what kind of?

When could I understand,

& appreciate it?

When could us both,

Share our imaginations?

How?

Why not?

How awe-inspiring would it be?

Yet this isn’t the least,

The awe in which,

I look at that bird.

— The End —