Antness of the ant
elephantness of the elephant
natureness of Nature
humanness of the Human
deathness of death
lifeness of life.
Plunging deep,
into the heart of form,
into the core of Earth;
into the core of me --
burning there.
Would that dissolve form?
Can something be created
out of nothing?
Clay and potter --
Her creative energy
her hands
skin and breath,
the smell of wet earth,
and its texture-
mingle on the wheel-
round and round and round...
and breathe life as one.
what gives life?
the mud?
the potter?
the wheel?
all of them swirling together?
They all seem to matter,
And yet, they all are but matter;
material of life,
that move around a centre.
(What is it that breathes?)
Who are You?
What are You?
Behind.
the mind cannot but help,
take recourse to what it 'knows'
what it believes--
brilliant as that recourse is.
swirling and churning,
the material of life --
Words in a book,
still not what they denote.
And yet...
Krishna tells Draupadi
in a letter-
on a thousand-petalled golden lotus:
I am Infinity.
I am your unbreakable bond,
with everything else.
I am your Arjuna too.
The universe is,
but a reflection of me.
I AM.
Who is this I then?
And what can the I create?
I am an infant
searching for the new
to come out of me,
while all that there is,
It already is.
- April 2021
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A poem evoked by the essay, "Why Exhibit Works of Art?" by Ananda Coomaraswamy, which had been in discussion at Purnam Cafe.
