Gaurav Ojha
Life, I am losing part of me every night
And in the morning I ask myself
How much of me I have regained?
In between sunset and sunrise
How much of life I have lived?
Depends on how long
My ASHES shall float and then gently settle
DOWN IN THE STEAM
And, how long shall I remain on the streambed?
Who decides? In a cold and callous Universe
What has survived through me?
BEFORE NON-EXISTENCE OF BEING
Life, be still, with or without me
For I never was, neither in my becoming, nor shall I ever be
Life, animated with semen and ovum
Irritation between tissue and skin
Observe the plastic bags swirling out from the dumping sides
Where they reach and how far they settle down?
Life, happened
To see you and for you to sense me
In the silence between eating biscuits and getting annoyed by a loud noise
Life, dancing in the rhythm of evolution and mutation
What is your purpose? Where shall you fall, in or out?
Of the Black hole
What’s on the other side or the circle of fire remains closed?
Life, I may never know
Why you, as were together in the mother’s womb, had to die?
Who is this surviving?
Me or the part of you
Billions of us fade even before ascribing a thought
And, I have been fortunate to write an incomplete poem
On a wall of deception
Hangs the portrait of life
With colors of magic, music, muscles, minds, meaning and medicines
The great illusionist
Survives On
And, signifies nothing
[Gaurav Ojha is engaged as a faculty of communication, critical thinking, academic writing and marketing research at different educational institutions. As a part of his creative interests, Mr. Ojha has regularly published opinion posts, poems and articles on a wide range of topics from death, disease, social issues, and humanism to post-religious spirituality.]