Lila: Universe at Play
I. I gaze upon the stranger in the frame, A child who bears my name, but not my shame. My skin has died a thousand silent deaths, Replaced with every season, every breath. If every cell is new, and youth is gone, Then tell me—who is carried on? Am I the vessel built of bone and dust, Or something else that holds the trust?
II. I ask the clock: Is time a steady line? Or does it bend to fit the mind’s design? It spins a dizzy orbit, fast and thin, Then slows to let the heavy shadows in. But laws of motion crumble at our feet, And gravity dissolves when two hearts meet.
III. Perhaps the body isn't fixed or tight, But canvas stretching out to hold the light. It isn't time that makes the vessel grow, It is the mind that forces it to flow. The atoms rearrange to fit the scale, Because the inner will cannot be frail. I am not flesh defined by skin and bone, I am the Architect inside the stone.
IV. So what is real in this parade of days? The shifting form? The time that never stays? The mirror lies, the seasons drift and fly, All fades except the silent, watching eye. I am not the frame that breaks and dies, I am the Logic looking through the eyes. The Witness standing still behind the face, Beyond the reach of time, beyond the space.
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LIFE
Like symphony, life unfolds in its own time. When the melody is ready, it releases an elegant sound— one that lingers, trembling in the air, slowly fading into the space it once filled. Only then does silence arrive, not as an absence, but as a pause where the echo remains. And from that silence, once more, the song is born.
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HOPE
After a long darkness, night draws back its heavy curtain, revealing a glimpse of light. With every inch it rises, the light washes over the world, saturating the scene with color, attended by the majestic songs of birds as they stitch the silence with the first threads of light. In this new fabric of the day, a pattern emerges: This is only the beginning; a brighter life awaits.
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