Searching for My Face in A Crowd

I looked at the red rose,

the first person created

an imaginary garden for the real rose,

he was a dreaming artist;

the second person compared the rose

with the beauty of my beloved;

he was a romantic poet,

the third person thought of 6800 Angstorm

and the pigments that make it red;

he was a scientist,

the fourth person concluded :

the colour was added to the rose

to attract insects to pollinate;

he was a naturalist,

the fifth person tried to find out

whether or not the existence of the rose

depends on the observation of the observer;

he was a philosopher.

I was startled

to know how much I had found out

about myself

just by looking at the rose

that I am a crowd,

I am as diverse as the nature itself,

I am a bunch of strings

each of which creates a divine music,

yet, I am a bunch of contradictions

put into well-defined Pandora's boxes.

When I was searching for my face in this crowd

wondering either I am all the faces or none

the realization dawn upon me:

there are no sharp lines in nature

to demarcate my existence

from that of the rose;

from that of the elements in the crowd

and I am no more searching for

a well-defined face

which I can identify as myself.

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