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.
UA-34469044-1
UA-34469044-1