One doesn’t really need a place –
Calm, quiet and nice.
To contemplate
(And think over the meaninglessness of everything around.)
Even a metropolis city-bus-stop –
Would – in fact – for that purpose suffice.
In the hustle and bustle of the crowd.
Everybody is running around.
Where to, why and for whom –
Aren’t such questions left better untried?
For isn’t life ultimately an exercise futile?
A journey that starts from shunya.
And –
Must one day end up in the same!
Why then keep on going in circles all along?
If there is nothing really beyond;
Why after-all take all
this pain?
What after-all,
O fool!
You are looking for in this gutter?
Being restless –
By its impermanent, materialistic
And hollow glitter.
Let us suppose –
The day comes when you –
Back into the elements get disintegrate.
As it happen must!
Either go up in smoke.
Or –
Just get swallowed by the soil –
And get reduced to dust.
Let there be no illusion,
O dear!
For even then –
Nothing will really change
Over here.
As it does today –
The world will still be running along.
May be a few days of ‘invented formalities’,
And then even from the memories –
You will be gone.
Weird indeed are the ways of this place.
For in the memory of the selfish race –
One does not really ultimately matter.
Whether he be you, me –
Or for that case,
Even giants like
Gandhi and Hitler.
