I understand that I don’t understand!
Therefore, when I don’t understand, I have understood something, and when I have understood, I know I don’t completely understand because there shall be something I haven’t understood!
Category: Poetry
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Resonant Minds
Back and forth goes the oscillating block.
Having energy abundant in stock.
Happy in its own periodicity,
Even though it appears mediocrity.Alas, the imperative society,
An interaction with forces too mighty,
Makes the block behave strangely.
Often dampened and stifled to its own nature.
Einstein says when the phase of the driver,
matches the natural frequency of the striver,
resonance is reached, limits breached, yearnings screeched.
Yet out of phase, if the driver was, the oscillation ceased.
Divergence: a genetic defect or altruistic advantage?
The topic needs a better vantage.
Misunderstood, often portrayed as numinous and gifted,
Yet the block's frequency remains natural and accreted.
Resonance, resonates with the resonant mind.
A mind that is of a different kind.
Resonance emerges solely by external interaction,
Since the mere rocking block likes to confide in the humdrum fraction. -
I was here
Oh! The fleeting nature of existence.
Would anyone know I was here?
Lost in the crowd, my voice, shouting to be known.
A divergence wanting to be shown.
Does it even matter?
For human existence is all but short-lived. -
The Pursuit of Life
Amidst the vast Universe, are we alone?
Are we unique to have a Sun which has brightly shone?
I wonder, ponder, that on a scale grander,
What it means to be alive?
Two hundred billion galaxies discovered so far,
A life like ours, yet none on par.
There has to be! There has to be! says the insight,
Yet none appear in sight.
Entailing less extrospection and more introspection,
We look for not the answer, but the question.
What is life?
One that is rife on Earth, but outside, a mere dearth.
Our wish to find someone like us or someone entirely different—
Or are they the same?
For aliens they are, regardless of the claim,
Bearing no resemblance to human descent.
We are eccentric!
A hyperbole, albeit we travel an orbit elliptic,
Arrogant and Anthropocentric, a better fit,
For a thought so impolitic, defended by extremity of the statistic.
Would they be hostile? Would they be intelligent?
A reflection of us, or a futile argument?
A deep curiosity perversely juxtaposed,
With creatures like us, having minds closed.
Infinite with our limitless imagination,
We picture them with fascination—
Wicked, crooked, and evil,
Projected onto the abstract.
With seldom bouts of gracious inspiration,
A thought deemed a vicious aberration.
Reason and emotions together characterise this quest,
A voyage of thought at none’s behest.
A conscious mind questioning its rarity,
A search for someone of an equal parity.
Probability agrees, practicality declines.
Within gloomy darkness, a silver line shines.
Peeping in a narrow tube to see a broad Universe,
An astronomer lays eyes to unveil the mystery,
With a question living eons and an immortal history.
The human in him asks the question, or does the scientist?
Oblivious to the ontology, focused on the gist,
He seeks to answer whether aliens exist.
The fleeting timespan of human curiosity
Is but a mere fluctuation, a jiffy in the cosmic scale,
What is life? A question so subtle,
The solution transcends humanity and aliens.
For a conscious soul is profound,
And habitable worlds abound. -
Passive Society
He kept shouting “look!”
Look at the beauty of nature.
Look at this exception,
in our understanding.
Isn’t it intriguing?
But others said “ohh that!”
That’s so obvious,
It always happens this way,
Big deal!, mocking him.
Look at the pattern, he continued courageously,
Look at the gate the other side to which lies a better understanding,
a better manifestation of nature.
But other’s said “NO!”,
It’s just obvious,
obvious and mundane,
you must be insane.
Maybe I am insane, he thought,
the passive society killed his will,
and made him another run-of-the-mill. -
The Sailor
Out into the open sea, the sailor set to sail,
He knew he was ready when he felt a strong gale.
He pulled the sail up to the top of the mast,
He was ready to sail at last.
He was aware that his job would be tough,
the weather would be a challenge and the sea would be rough.
He set out into the sea, with a strong determination,
A will which won’t quiver until he reached his destination.
He had no one to help with his daily ordeal,
The ferocious sea was feeding on his zeal.
But he never gave up and courageously sailed,
Every day he won and every day he failed.
The sailor is a manifestation of a strong will,
A trait not found in anyone run-of the-mill.
The sailor had in mind that the destination doesn’t matter,
Destination came from daily struggle and he was concerned about the latter.
He knew he had to survive everyday and keep learning from mistakes,
He wished to be perfect but he knew his wishes were of no avail
Because every day he won and every day he failed.
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Old Eyes
Age is a vortex which swallows all alike,
it is an inevitable road on which everyone has to hike.
I see the old dog losing its vibrancy.
His weary eyes depicting life’s inconstancy.
His eyes look familiar as if telling a story,
the story which needs no oratory.
I see a similitude in his eyes and doddering Nancy’s ,
both expressing an inescapable dormancy.
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Solidarności
I walk on a trodden road,
Laden with a heavy load.
A drop of compassion is all I need,
A teensy bit of love for the soul to feed.
On a point, I strive to focus
The point that defines my life’s locus.
With a bundle of solidarity
And a head full of clarity
I hope to convey these wordly bits without parity.
There is much to live and much to explore,
In this seemingly eternal dance on life’s floor.
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The Story of My Life
It’s a trap of genetics.
Altruism isn’t just theatrics.
Oh, positive, degenerates my blood group and my nature.
I wish to reach the height, where no one could reach.
Give me the strength lord, to give justice to the altruistic gene.
Forgive me thy lord, for all the Schadenfreude seen.
It is a gift and a curse to have the altruistic gene.
The grass on the other side always seems green.
These rhyming words trying to describe the story of my life.
The story with a lot of compassion and the fewest of strifes.