An Ode to Imagination

So, here it begins. 

My fascination for finding destination in a maze named life has finally led me to a dead end. Perhaps, I was more excited and happy and consumed in running towards a illusory destination rather than knowing that its an insignificant untrue shadow of it's true self, a mirage. Every destination is, a mirage, once you reach near it, once you achieve it, once you embrace it, you could see it. The ultimate tragedy of mine was, while building a perfect story making sure there remains no flaws, somehow I lost the entire narrative. I tended to over amplify and merge pains of past into paranoia of present, in the echo chamber of my mind, in my melancholic reflections while the truth is that I among many was another hapless victim of circumstances, hormones & my own expectations.

I may or may not be a believer, but I too would like to begin this journey with a prayer. Not that I do not believe in self sufficiency of Human will but sometimes what pushes us through the darkest and grimmest moments of life is pristine hope ; to be winner sometimes above all you need someone to repose trust, share your joys and sorrows.....or to say someone to love.

Taking cue from Leo Tolstoy, That the kingdom of God is within us and it resides in the heart of men, here's an Ode, an Ode to the infinite yet unseen truth, to the tangible flesh and intangible  spirit, to the repository of  destiny, the gambler of fate, the provoker of my curiosity, the protector of my frailties, the bearer of my love, the God of my faintest hopes, creativity and imagination, whom I can articulate in thousand such phrases yet cannot name.

Neither in the mist of words,

Nor in the devotional gleam,

Nor in the bliss of rituals,

That blow of as seamless steam.

He who doesn’t dwell in some far off heaven

But resides in the heart of men.

In the endless sky, Cosmos and the barren shore.

He begins where the vision halts, and reflection begins,

And not what people here adore....

He presides over the unsaid prayers while shooting stars-

Of brave damsel and her hero with scars,

In each era he walks down,

To embrace us, to give us mortals, A part of his crown,

To be immortalized in legends, literature and the lore.

He lives among us, in our very lives

In our love, hope and agony as well

And not what people here adore.

He who by words are spoken,

And not the one who’s spoken by words.

Who pumps life in the veins of world,

Yet pretends to be unknown

The infinite reality- 

Objective Truth, Hazy dream, eternal ecstasy or much more.

He lives in the smallest ephemeral emotion

And not what people here adore.

- Bhuvan Krishna

  07.05.2021