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.

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.

In you I was shaped
Slowly, with my ease and your pain
The smile you had when you
Knew I was, was there in you,
Unknowingly though, I did make you smile,
The best thing I could do for you, even though for a while.

I was then out into this world
Your milk, the nectar I drank
Life I did gain,
Gift I got, a gift of no rank.

To this day, you have not lost
Even one drop of that perseverance,
Which began back in the day
You are your own touchstone, no one in your way.

Your womb, the temple where
The oblations of your blood and pain structured me,
You are in front of my eyes my Goddess
Why for another Goddess should I look, should I see?

Not for me
does the sun burn,
not for me
does the earth turn,
not for me
do the waters flow,
not for me
does the moon glow.
not for me
do the birds sing,
not for me
do the birds not sing.
We are not
a family of loved ones,
we are not
companions in hate either,
we are just here now,
may be living till then
may be not.

It’s no beauty nor ugliness,
neither chaos nor finesse.
We’re in a maze,
trying to figure out,
what’s it all about.
Some say accident,
some say miracle,
some say a hole,
some say the pinnacle.

It isn’t a story
but an act extempore,
some act slavish,
some act free.

Until we figure it out,
Let us love each other all out.
Let us hold our warmth
in our embraces,
Soothe me when
my heart races.

Even if I never figure it out,
I’d know what love is about,
You could become my universe,
And I’d soothe myself knowing you,
If I ever could.

I be for you,
You be for me,
Let us love each other all out,
Even if we don’t figure it out.

Let us love each other
So that a few more verses are born
To crawl majestically on the thorn
Of the fear to lose the one you love
To finally get bruised and scattered
Letter by letter
Fetter by fetter,
falling apart and joining the letters of past
which fell like these long time back,
waiting for some more to fall in the future.

Scared you seem,
I wanted you to be,
So you love me
and never leave,
and spare my verses,
my letters.

Promise me you won’t be
like a sun or a moon to me,
I’ve told you my heart,
Don’t tear it apart.
But if you ever do that,
Do it like an art,
Be delicate,
Pierce me with a barbule,
The wound be like a mark,
A mark of my love,
And of your move so dark.

A bird with three wings of time
Loves to move in, stay & move out
Into houses with the first brick of which
She moves in & stays for a while.
Then as the last flutter of the third wing cometh,
The end of the stay too with that,
The bird says a goodbye to none.
Goes silently, who knows her when she goes?
The house crumbling down goes to the ground.
And the bird in another house,
Then another, then another, then
Another, since infinity till infinity.

Who has seen her?
Who knows if she's one or many?
Some say she's in the sky,
Some say she begot the sky, the earth,
Some say she is the sky, the earth & what not.
Some say she's a lovely illusion for those not eager for salvation.
Whatever she be, I feel her in me.
She stays fine, doesn't disturb.
Some day she'll leave me,
Don't know when,
None will see her going
Or coming.
But the bird will be there flying from one house to the other.

Take the stars
Put ‘em in your pocket
Take the sun
Make a locket
Wear it.
Near it
Would be burns
And heat,
No cheat
Could be done.
The price,
To hold the precious,
Success,
Recess?
From passion?
No fashion,
Could be established,
If it weren’t wished,
If it weren’t loved enough,
If the times weren’t tough.

Win isn’t a cherry,
Perfectly ripe,
It’s all a hype.
It’s a feel
Difficult to express,
Yet picking the words,
Just right enough,
To give a hint,
With the least tint,
Just as it were
The feel alone.

Not so easy it is,
Not so impossible I think,
Just that it can’t be had,
With the ease of a blink.
It’s an earning,
Which becomes an ornament,
Of the passion,
The passion to express,
To wrap the feel,
In the words’ dress.
Rare ones could undress
The feel and feel it,
And absorb,
The gladness,
The sadness,
The awe,
The wonder,
The thunder,
That I hid in the word.

Calm down,
Don’t rush,
Meditate on the feel,
Not on the word,
Either the word
Would appear,
Or you’d invent
Your own so dear.

Challenges many
Win but one.
If you dare to face,
The hurts in case,
Take the stars,
Put ’em in your pocket,
Take the sun,
Make a locket,
Wear it.

We’ll die someday,

This way or that way,

Or some else way,

But hey!

Are we afraid of it?

Yes we are.

We’re afraid of a ‘no’ in a love proposal,

Let alone death,

The end of all.

The epic fall,

After which there is,

Probably no rise.

I surmise.

Even if there is,

We won’t remember,

It is so,

As good as no.

Even after all the labs & tests,

Death with the unknown rests.

As much we may boast,

This may be our last toast.


Do not be afraid.

Forget the trivial complaints,

Forgive the forgivable taints,

You too have so many.

Be together,

Even in a dull weather.

Even a dull opportunity

Is better than none,

Who knows we may never see,

The next rise of the sun.

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.

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.

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.