Jigsaw Poem by sunil sathyendra

The jigsaw was never finished, there were gaping holes in the picture,
yet a few parts stuck to itself in perfect alignment, some preordained, too easy to predict, some an art of pure luck...
There were illusions, far too many of them, traps that kept your mind running in circles, some were too small, some large, some infinite...
There were realizations aplenty, some a spark of brilliance, some hard work...
Time was running, the picture remained to be figured out, some lent their time on the picture, others on the artist, some on the strokes of genius, some were stuck at the feelings of awe...

The final picture was to figure out everything, we all took baby steps towards it,
Even when we had everything in our sights we missed something,
when we had something we still had a long way to go to fit in the rest! !

Some stood by the great puzzle, some were the puzzle, some took years to find a rabbit-hole in a garden of rat houses…

Some took up the journey, enjoyed their time, left the picture more refined,
For others we were spectators, for us we were subjects and targets...
Everything was connected to something,
some of us were connected to everyone,
the world was our picture...

We are the jigsaw, we are the artist, the living breathing paradox of impossibility...
We are the sea...
The finite mortals yet, infinite in the picture of everything…

The jigsaw was complete the whole time, we had to figure it out on our own….