Bull And Self Transcended Poem by Prathibha Nandakumar

The Bull, my master, the bull is whispering
hundred things you never mentioned.

How may a snowflake exist in a raging fire?

The raging fire takes me
yet burn me half.
You speak of unfulfilled desires
Not to fulfil but to curtail
To burn to ashes is my wish
to credit the fire with
it’s true nature.

The beauty of my garden is invisible.

It is not for display.
The fence is not big yet
Nothing is seen.
I have the scene, do you have the sight?
The blossom does not cry out
The florist is on a holiday

If he wishes me to submit, he must raise his whip

He has no use of the whip.
Nor does he want me to submit.
To submit and to offer myself
for the whip is a wish mine alone
I am no China shop
And he is no bull.

Hold the nose-ring tight and do not allow even a doubt.

Unless I discriminate, how will
I perceive the true from the untrue?
I wear the nose-ring and he
Is full of doubt
To hold or not is for him to judge
I know to discriminate
And I have no doubt.

The bull, my master, was never lost.
And searching is by not me but you.