Twisted in lifelong ivy, that stretches from the golden womb, hiranyagarbha, beyond the indras of the indras, beyond the marching ants, i stood there, looking at the old man, looking at the young boy, knowing that both are one.Hari and Hara.
twisted in long words , from serendipity to polysyllabic jargon , seeking wordless
yet in munching in the worded , i fumble upon you , the long eyelashes and the dreamy stare , silence and yet a long string of thoughts attached in space
i fumble into you the quick witted , quick spirit winged sandal cherub
i mumble along with you , the dainty , poised , yet clumsy Japanese riddle
i dance with you the crazy jaw hanging dance around a circle wordless beat of a drum , a eastern European flare .
i keep meeting the unreachable, unquenchable , insatiable one ….
then i realize that firaq means seperated and seeking at the same time,
then i realize ishq does not mean love but union ,
then i realize that ishq da malang means the wild one seeking union ,
can the separated seeker ever find union!
only the helpless hanging jaw and the rolling eyes know the answer in a dream forgotten but slightly known…..
