There are some that have forsaken
Their beloved homes and some have
Abandoned citadels of faith,
All for an infatuation with philosophy!
And there are those that have been exiled
Some have drunk poison and some
Have resorted to wine, or even
Have embraced prostitutes for love!

“What sort of an attraction is this?”
I too follow the course to find the answer
But I’ve seen nothing but a veil of haze
Besides, I am shortsighted to start with
No one seems to have left any trails either
The few signs left behind, are unfit for use
I am convinced of the fact that
The path of philosophy has been
And shall always be like this –banished!

In a way, poetry is similar, at least in part
And partly, it is not.
The poet walks like a king
Even with an empty wallet,
And still takes everyone along
Amidst trees in the thickest of jungles
And through the weekly village markets
Walks by himself, and yet not entirely alone!

He loves those majestic queens —
Divine and demonic beauties of yore
Native and foreign and even more
The philosopher, however, despite feeling
Intense pain of body and mind
Cannot let go and yield to the instincts.
Oh, what an everlasting addiction —
That illusion of the mind!

I am there for all, who is there for me?
It is a sin even to think like that, maybe
I do not know where “I” end
And where the “others” begin
Or, where selfishness ends
And selflessness begins
Nor, where speech ends
And silence begins.
All opposites seem to encounter, clash
And slide past each other in silence
Leaving no clues behind

Even a flower knows
When to unfurl, when to whither
When to drop its petals and fall
I am the one, clueless by birth
Inadequate, suffering from dearth
Longing to merge into ‘nothing’ –but alas!
Even my universe is devoid of the void!
Having been thrown here in this misty haze
Have lost my bearings in this startling daze
Like a fish looking for the water’s edge
Caught in a net that forms a wedge
Oh, Shadow on the wall, can you tell me

And how much of me, are you?
Should I rejoice that I am gigantic like you?
I am tiny and thin, and yet, Oh setting Sun,
You poured the golden light
On everything on earth, including my face
Like, it is no longer my face but yours.
You will rise tomorrow early in the morning
And billions of lives await your arrival.
Who shall wait for me, and who knows —

If I will wake up at all, in the morning?
Haven’t slept for ages, eyelids are swollen
Heavy like a ton of weight, as though
The entire wait of this universe
Rests on my restless sleepy eyelids
Pretending — despite knowing that
It is mere delusion!
The eyelids dare not shut and sleep
Lest they dream the dreadful dreams
Oh, evening light, freeze, just for a moment
Accept me, in your stillness.