On Sanchi hill a sedentary Buddha
With eyes turned inward, eyes of introspection,
Did not perceive a play of ironies
Enacted on his lap, but I was witness:
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Life is a parenthesis between nullity and meaning.
Each one of us can make it meaningful, not null and void,
But something to endure
Beyond memory or prophesy,
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Was it a German thinker ‘Novalis,
Who spoke about Cinema as a fantasy,
"The world becomes a dream and the dream becomes a world"?
.
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The Eternal Present disappears when you name it,
Or freeze it as an idea, an image or feeling fleeting past,
Even as we seek the words to suit its transience.
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Strolling in the British Museum one day in London,
I paid silent homage to the manuscripts.
Shakespeare mortgaging his house for sixty pounds;
Kings acknowledging messages;
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1. Fooling Around
Round and round we went and found
That we were only roaming round,
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Since boyhood I have felt melodic tunes
That lingered unbeknown within my pulse
In rhythmic beats I was not taught to scan;
Wavelets of words and phrases reached my feet,
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When lover lies with lass,
Locked in a monogram,
Their love could be a sham,
For each one loves alone
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