Decrypting latent disciplines

As my skin glistens under the blazing charisma
Of the sun,
The warmth pervading my skin,
Melting the frozen carapace around the senses
Stoking them to rise from a deep slumber
I struggle to severe my hypnotic lashes
Only to be blinded by the glowing sun
Who apparently mocks at me
Like it does at a million others, under its shade
Who grapple with the same set of questions
Drowning in the ocean of self -effacement
Yet made buoyant by the baggage of self worth
They fail to dissolve.
I too am another tripper, heading towards
A destination, oblivious
An explorer astounded by everything her eyes
Fall at and surprisingly hesitates to dissect more
For she knows her vessel is too small
To contain what awaits to be found,
A disciple who is perplexed by the disciplines
And sets about to search the master,
Yet steps back, for there is , she knows
No pleasure like that in the pains it takes to find Him.
And what does it take to live once the master is found?
But how does it matter?
‘How does it master? ‘ , throng my mind
Throbbing it loud enough for my heart to involuntarily pace
With it.
How does it matter if I reach the destination?
How does it matter if I explore everything I want to?
How does it matter if I meet my master?
I am but a rubble in the cosmos
An inconspicuous dust in the corner space
Of an unmeasured, unfathomable expanse.
How do I even matter?
If swathes of my flesh drip down coalescing
With the damp soil beneath
Will I be any different from the tiny white flower
That wilted in my garden and woefully remains unidentified?
As silence engulfs and vacuum savours my mind
I hear a voice that doesn’t come in waves
See a light emanating from no source
Feel intensely yet go numb,
I sense a sudden unison of my external and internal
My mind questioning my own dubiety
Calming me down, trying to make me reminisce,
Though unidentified, how I, the master of the garden
Mourned equally for the white tiny flower and the giant
Red rose
How every flower completes an inch of my garden
How the ocean owes its drops
And how everything is just a variedly shaped heap
Of zillions of invisible, indivisible particles
We fail to identify in a lifetime.
Again silence engulfs me, but this time
The sun no more smirks but grins
Allowing me to stare at it for long
May be it knows, I’ve just decrypted the master’s
Very first latent discipline, “ It’s about deducing in just a different way”.

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