समाचार
The granite spine of the world ascends,
A jagged script where the valley ends;
The peak is a wall that the clouds must climb,
A frozen border at the edge of time.
The river carves a silver vein,
A liquid fence across the plain,
Dividing the soil with a surging force
The earth is mapped by the water’s course.
But deeper still, a barrier lies,
Where the infinite light meets human eyes;
The soul is a bird in a cage of bone,
In a vessel of flesh, it dwells alone.
This body, a boundary, brief and frail,
A pulsing wall, a temporal veil,
Keeping the spirit from the wide expanse,
Confined to the rhythm of the mortal dance.
Then come the lines that the hand has drawn,
In the dust of the dusk and the dew of the dawn.
With ink and iron, with wire and wall,
We build the heights that are meant to fall.
We map the wind and we claim the sea,
Forgetting that ghosts and the gales are free;
A patchwork world of “mine” and “thine,”
Where the heart is lost in the border line.
Yet, look to the space where the stars are sown,
Where the concept of “edge” is quite unknown.
Could we unmake the map and the wall?
Let the stone subside and the fences fall?
To see the earth as a single breath,
Unified from birth until death
Where the soul spills out from its house of clay,
And the lines of the world simply wash away.
Amalendu Nath Misra, India
