In Quest of Truth

a poem by Rajaram Ramachandran, India - poetry writer, author, poet

Today, in me, wonder, I’ve no faith!
The reasons, I couldn’t surmise, why?
For my little belief and courage, vanished both,
With my eventless past, fleeting present, nothing but dry.

In quest of Truth, in search for some proof,
Hither and thither, I wandered, left no stone unturned,
Still not enlightened, groping in the dark, reaped nothing but other’s reproof.
Hey! Know some one, could blow out, all the vagaries of my mind?

Mummy gagged my mouth, dragged me straight to the pooja room,
Gods to the left, Gods to the right, countless in number,
“There you find Him, Oh! You unfaithful, never live in gloom,
For you owe your life unto Him, always remember.”

Daddy smiled, perhaps understood me well, on our way to the temple,
To the chambers and antechambers of Gods, he led me around,
“There, my son, live all the Gods, for whom rings, oh, the bell.
He only commandeth your destiny, all round.”

“The ‘I’ in you or me, the ‘I’ in she or he,
It is one and the same ‘I’ in Him.”
Said the teacher, still not liberating my mind free,
With all my sense of reverence to him.

“The ‘Eyes’ can’t see Him, the ‘Ears’ can’t hear Him,
The ‘Nose’ can’t smell Him, the ‘Mouth’ can’t spell Him,
Nor all the senses in the living body can feel Him.”
The holy priest said, what a confusion, how best could I comprehend Him?

If inside the silver frames, or the sacred edifice,
Or, elsewhere exists, the Supreme ‘I’ as one divine grace,
Why then all forces of ‘oneness’ stand in multiplicity for ever,
Solve this paradox, in simpler words said, it's better.

“Death follows birth, a change, an inevitable event,
But still one has the strong will to live,
Sickness or suffering, joy or sorrow, isn’t relevant,
To one’s fond hope of living next morrow, alive.”

“The water, wind, fire, earth and space, rolling into this body,
The eyes, ears, nose, mouth and senses, dancing to the tune of this mind,
The receptacle of intellect, as a storehouse for the Supreme ‘I’,
Repeats the course of life, with no beginning or end.”

“Aren’t the clouds, rain, wave and ocean, the same water,
So the gold, as the pendants, lace or bracelets,
And also the pots and bricks of the clay; no matter,
The forms and names, aren’t they the numerous expressions of His outlets.”

“When the little drops of water could make this mighty ocean,
The little particles of sand, together, this mighty world,
And the leaves, branches, roots shape this giant tree as one,
All in one, one in all, is the Holy order, behold!

Why, While awake, this conflicting turmoil?
Who spoke the Truth, in my deep dream of peace?
Better, Oh! Lord, keep me ever in my dream world, lest one more conflict befall,
For saner I become, sooner my sails go, deeper into my ‘Self’ with Thy grace.

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