Behind

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. 

Living the Question

It lay dormant for many years, ages. in the dark, comfortable, cosy. No water could reach it, and not the sunlight. the passage of time, the revolution of the planet, ushered in some moonlight, Some movement, in the worlds above.

They say faith moves mountains. Have you seen mountains move? now, a teacher’s faith! She brought in fresh air; The ground started breathing, and having conversations.

The sun reached in, and touched the shadows and questions. “Is the individual for society, or society for the individual?”

Water rushed in, ever-loyal to gravity and conversation flowed – “Does name matter? Work is work; water is the form of its container.”

One uncomfortable morning, the ground broke. And the young one peeped out, eyes covered. To discover the forest. Conversations abound nourishing, strengthening, questioning, the sweat and blood of growing up.

Yet another morning, not so uncomfortable, the not-so-young-one found purpose. More conversation, “Can there be an individual purpose? What is a wall? Robert Frost knew the secret.

‘Something there is that doesn’t love a wall’ roots uproot, here in the forest. creepers grow thick as thieves, and create gaps, walls crumble. Even the Berlin one did. and the great China one, is on its way there. Do the tourist, you will see.”

On this morning, fresh after the rains, the smell of beauty rising from the ground;

Fluttering its leaves, dancing with the breeze standing, with friends and family, and community, Here is the neem, There is the tamarind, and the peepal, the banyan, the young ones, the herbs and the flowering, the thorny and the leafy....

the direction seems clear, and yet not so much.

“My shade is for the asking, the fruits will come in season, twigs for firewood grass underneath for cows and goats. And yet, What is it that I am doing? What is just me? Kabir says to his Lord: You, are the bigness in the elephant, and the smallness in the ant,”

Asks the not-young-one,

“What makes the I-ness in the I? Fruits arrive naturally.”

- Priya