The mind does not paint pictures
It merely recollects its embedded ‘sanskars’
A tool does not conceive or create
Until the power behind the mind goes to ideate
The monkey does not create a new dance form
Only the ‘madari’ knows what the monkey can perform
It is His concept that around the universe we see
And then realise how powerless like puppets are you and me
He decides when the game should be over
Time to pack up…antics no more.
Like the monkey I climb to rest on his shoulder
The fruit that He offered in return is all that I worked for
Slowly the day fades into night
Pensive reflection returns with the dimming light
Did I do well or did I not?
Was the Master happy or was he not?
If I failed, is he not also a failure?
As our past, present and future are linked together
The thoughts of His mind as they enter my head
We both look for a new day ahead
Look closely, me and Him we have become one
A single figure walking alone
With the cloth sack of tricks
The monkey and the Lord - the eternal madari
Move on the road
One day’s game changes to another day
The magician revels in another cosmic play
From his sack He pulls out the props of His games
The monkey has been taught how to dance around them
Trying to understand, the wise men say
The entire universe is that Madari’s play
Creation exists as the Brahman wills
He creates, sustains and changes as He feels
From his sack of tricks unfolds his ‘maya’, the teacher
The ‘jiva’, like the monkey, is the obedient learner
With the Lord, his ‘maya’ and the ‘jiva’ working as one
The entire play goes thus on…and on.
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