The Fabric of Truth

And then a drop of rain
slid through the yellow scales
leaving on its wake a watery trail
A beetle approached, on the leaf it lodged
the leaf with a sigh bent –
and it shed the watery gem
on the grey folds of a tiny humorless pebble below

This scene they enacted before my eyes
yet I cannot concede
that the beetle was sent to make the leaf bend
so that I could see
all the places where the vagabond water perches –
as the clouds retreat

I keep running around the corridors of Thought
looking for something I no longer apprehend
And keep repeating to myself – why the beetle,
the beetle, to the leaf it went?

I dig a hole here and poke a finger there
But I never manage to get through the door
I have no clue what I’ll find on the other side
a book, a gong or maybe a grail or another door?

Or perhaps a garden breathing fresh, after a light shower
And then the drop of rain
would slide through the yellow scales yet again
And a mad beetle would complete
the selfsame act that destiny ordained

Pray say truth is not what lies behind that door
it’s woven everywhere in all I see, do and hear
like a pattern 
through the fabric
of time and space

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About Me

Nehaan in Persian means ‘secret’ or ‘hidden.’ In Japanese, the same word means ‘nirvana.’ In these pages, I will make an attempt to explore, and if possible, partly or fully reveal what lies hidden from our view in our day-to-day lives. The path will be characterised by a certain lack of method which I think is characteristic of human intuition. I write and shall continue to write only when inspired to do so. This also means I might occasionally make forays into varied fields such as science, music, philosophy, language, linguistics and poetry, to name a few. I hope this would not put off new readers and tire the old ones! But who am I to complain–even the lovers of fine wine feel repulsed by the first drop and still, quite strangely, dizzy by the last.

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