The Door Poem by Dr Avinash Dal

I have reached this door with no keyhole
And no key either
But yet I need to go on, hole or no hole
Cannot break through either
I look around diligently
And wonder whether I have come
To the correct abode or gone silently
Astray somewhere along the way
I know I have looked at the milestones
And did not even rest nor stay
No shade, no tree, well or stone
Have I asked to sit by or lay
Then where is this new door
Right in my path, standing stern
How do I exit or enter
How to pass I must learn
Time has no meaning here
Even if I wait for eternity
The door stands there to stare
Blankly at my vanity
Suddenly I could feel
A beggar with a bowl empty
Standing next to me completely still
Lean and with a gaze shifty
Not asking, not begging
What use of a bowl
That's empty and not for filling?
I stare him down
Not realising my own position
Was worth less than a clown
Because of the accursed door
That stood in my path still
My patience thinning by the hour
Yet is human nature to kill
Your own pains by looking for other
And others' and other's
A half smile on his lips
A bright eye of understanding
His one hand rests on his hips
Watching me standing
There like a fool
Who did not know what to do with
A simple door with no keyhole
Honestly, I did not know with
What I should open that gate
And what would lead beyond
All my study was a waste
Like water poured on a stone
Just flows down in haste
Wetness that would soon be gone
I looked him for any help
Or hint or any sign
That would be beyond myself
All that polishing of my mirror
Could not reflect any idea
What should I do or murmur?
Finally he did sigh
Knowing the futility of letting
Me wait and wait or cry
If you want to go across
You will not be able to open it
If there is no way to cross
Where stands this door in it?
Your journey is not in being
In journey or travel
It's just in being there
An observer not of this level
But beyond from where
There is the road of non-abiding
Why don't you take this begging bowl
And understand its function is not begging
It's a receptacle of nothing
As empty as empty should be
I took the wooden bowl and
Emptied my thoughts into it
And the door, the way, the sand
All dissolved in it
So did the beggar and his robes
And alone I stood formless
With no way to walk
No door to open
No key to find
As I was the way itself
As empty, alone not even one.


By
Dr Avinash Dal