Incertitude

Incertitude Who am I...? Am I the first born son, emanating from a fire of passion? Am I the long lost hope, rekindled, ravenous in the eyes of my forebears? Am I the caressed cocoon, spun out of love and compassion? Whose silken threads, entice and embellish the vain vanity of its wanton wearers? Am I a prodding prodigy, Aimed at excelling in every sphere ? Am I, a porous sponge, meant to absorb every single human emotion, a mortal can bear? Am I a doted upon enduring exemplar or a doomed ephemeral effigy? Am I the mellow and musky mist, exuding from a bare bosom? Am I the naive, reticent lover, imperfect, yet dearest to my beloved? Am I the longing in her eyes, a hypnotic hum? Am I mere an object of desire- usurped, used, seduced, shoved? Would I be another mere mortal among the countless thriving throng? Lashed by grief, aged by time, thwarted by fear and smitten by love? Would I be a forgotten fable or a perennial song? Would I be remembered as - A peacock- proud of its plumage, An Owl- sombre yet subtle , of a lettered lineage, A nightingale-serenading a song touching the core , A mystic bird from an ancient lore, or , a dove – cygnet soft , gentle sitting on an alcove? Oh Time! Tarry! A little, Before I transcend from this world to the other, Hark ! I plead, solve this riddle. Oh Wind! Carry away my doubts to the omniscient; Rush against all odds, be it a mighty mountain or a rampant ridge. Time is running, I dread to lose myself in this mystic maze, Oh Almighty! Accept my venerations to you my liege, Enlighten me , before my mortal remains is set ablaze. -Saptarshi Mukherjee