Khula aasman kehta hai dareechay se jo jhalak hai usay such na samajhna
Jo khalish door se mehkay uss behkaanay se na behakna
Jo tarap dopehar ko khankay usay sooraj to na kehna
Shayad issee subho ki aamad ke liye tum kehtay thay ‘bus ik baar’
Lafzon ki rawish ka ye jhonka kahin lay jaaye na uss paar.
The shadow which follows the act
This the Vedic formula cannot foresee.
The heal which nectars the soothe
The Brahmin can stand on all fours all day.
The hurt which informs the breach
Your Atman can outreach you, but then there’s the thud.
The shtick which launches the known
Brahma is out there you see.
The sun which foreshadows the dip
The Shudra will inherit it all.
-A perfect number is one whose divisors add up to itself
Pythagoras discovered them
He held numbers in such awe that it is said that he said Everything is Number.
– A slightly imperfect number is one whose divisors add up to one less than itself
Pythagoras discovered them as well
Turns out there are many many slightly imperfect numbers.
– There are no slightly imperfect numbers in the other direction
Where the divisors add up to one more than itself
None have been found to date, yet it has not been proved that none can be found.
– Everything is Number
Pythagoras is reputed to have killed off a member of his secret society
Because he leaked the secret of the irrational number.
– Logic is a knife that will cut you if you are not careful
Others have said this or something similar
An irrational number does not have to be an unreasonable one.
The fold of your hands in supplication is not worship
The brim of your cup in anticipation is not love
The grit on your sleeve worn out of green enchantment is not magic
The bulb of the root that sits on top of your mountain is not you
The shard of the same of the shard of the same is not semblance
The din that lays low and low and does not sound is not the hum
And yet it is, it is, it is.
This way of twisting things around, saying it is so and not-so
This chalk of contradiction that spells out this event and maybe that one too
The preparation, the denunciation, and the reconciliation
The grim, the peppy, the tight, the noose
It is the formation of clouds and the stringing together of stars
on an uncertain background of a hitherto unheard of rhythm that
plays out in sentence after phrase after ludicrous noun.
The sin of the holy ghost, the twist of verbs, the souring of
one epoch and then another. The hum stands in tepid brilliance
against the sharp, the known, the ornamented assembly passing
off as music. No, the ears know better, the eyes will not be
fooled again. The words spoken in a language not entirely from
home will argue clumsily. The awkward whisper is now all that
remains. The rain will pitter patter less stridently now.
Relegation of the savage is subtle
his reaction surer
the subtlety is but two discrete steps removed from the surety.
The neurosis is refined
the fallout crude
the crudeness connected by two concrete dots to the nuance.
Letting light of day unveil the misty spots can heal the hurt
Scribbling dribbling, almost anything that
– a sculpted wish may wish
– a transformed deity coming home will weigh on scales of the original injustice that separated it all
– the ministry of magic will gurgle ‘bata teri raza kya hai?’ while looking up a forlorn dictionary
– will nuzzle the ooozlemots and pratinchoots to form a distinct cohort of misanthropes, and then dance to emblemify nothing
– will choke the ‘gata rahe mera dil’ in its first footstep, and the forlorn dictionary is put back where it belongs
– will force the coagulated anxieties that prefix the beginning of day to dissipate themselves in the tiniest of orgified b-complexes
– with the moral turpitude of an organogram outwit the phalanxes and the rabid nurses that carry your message of care to the other side.
– will create semblance, correspondence, one-on-one mappings, and then step outside for a luxuriated pillow-less air massage.
– gives cause to concern, depth to the unloved, parch to the submerged in mire.