History Happening Poem by Ananta Madhavan

Few so blind as they who fail to see
The flux and flutter
Of history happening.

None so deaf as they
Who will not listen
To the interior monologue
Of the questing Soul and Self.

At sunrise a flock of ibises
Wing away, long necks, grey streaks.

...

Recover what you can,
If it is worth remembering.
Forget the rest or forgo
What you cannot keep
Somewhere, a lost address
In a lane beyond memory.

...

We are laminated by the past
As residual memories
Of our own forgotten childhood,
And the dregs of what elders
Thought worth remembrance.
The rest is living by deputy,
Autobiography in mythic fragments.
A human particle, not always humane,
That presumes to apprehend itself:
Aware enough to remain unaware.