Shiva And Shakti (Cosmic Unity) Poem by Prabir Gayen

Shiva and Shakti
Cosmic Unity
By Prabir Kumar Gayen

Not man, nor woman—neither shell nor shape,
But One, unfolded in the play of two.
The Father—pulse that stirs the unborn light,
The Mother—depth where silence finds its form.
He yields the surge, She bears the depthless call;
Together, the axis spins, unseen, unknown.

In man, the outer shell is carved by light,
Yet far below, a murmur coils unseen,
A breathless hymn, not born of wind or word,
The trace of Her who watches through his will.
In woman moves the rhythm of the moon,
Her form a dance, her step the pulse of time,
Yet inwardly, the Fire folds its wings,
A serpent light that waits to rise as Him.

Shakti is not the echo of His eyes,
Nor is He whole without Her silent depth.
They part, not to divide, but just to see,
To play as two what always was but One.
She is the voice before the word is born,
He is the space that hears Her sound arise.

What moves in man to seek the outer world
Is but his hunger for the Self within—
The flame he is, reflected in the dream.
The woman turns, not to the other's call,
But to the echo of her own deep flame—
The seed she veils in silence stirs outside,
Now walking back to her in altered form.
No face is stranger, no desire astray;
Each touch recalls the Shape behind all change.
For in the man, her soul has taken fire,
And in the woman, he becomes his truth,
Two names of One, who burns to taste Its Self.

The woman turns, not to the other's call,
But to the echo of her own deep flame,
The seed she veils in silence stirs outside,
Now walking back to her in altered form.
No face is stranger, no desire astray;
Each touch recalls the Shape behind all change.
For in the man, her soul has taken fire,
And in the woman, he becomes his truth,
Two names of One, who burns to taste Its Self.

Where mind divides, the truth remains as one.
The serpent sleeps in form, the light comes down.
He falls through time, but rising wakes within,
She holds his flame through joy that needs no voice.
She does not rise—she is the height unseen,
The flowing stillness wrapped in threads of gold.
He breaks apart to feel Her burning touch,
For all his joy is born from Her own fire.

The sage and fool are fingers of one fire,
One turns the stars, one gazes into dream,
Yet both are moved by That which none can name.
The soul is not a shape to rise and claim,
But breath of Flame that dances through all forms.
So meet they there—two echoes of the Whole,
And drink love's fire from lips that burn as wine.

O pilgrim, seek not form of man or maid,
But that pure breath where 'I' and 'Thou' dissolve.
This Love is not possession, nor a chain,
But fire that frees the soul through sacred tide.
There Shiva kneels before the womb of night,
And Shakti floods His stillness into song.
In every touch, the cosmos is unmade,
And Being drinks its image back from Bliss.

O seeker, seek not man nor woman there,
But breath where Self and Not-Self cease to war.
This love is not a clasp, but vast release,
Where Shiva bows to Shakti in the dark,
And Shakti pours the worlds through Him again.
**
@Prabir Gayen
23April /2025/2: 57 PM