That Which Is Yet Unseen

That which Is yet unseen Prabir Kumar Gayen It lies within, yet silence bears its weight, As water rests inside an empty lake, No stir disturbs, no whisper shakes the face. The sky extends, yet void of star or moon, No galaxy unveils its trembling fire. It lies like forest shorn of bird or wind, No twittering call, no sough, no symphony. It lies within—beyond the outer shell, Where ether sleeps, nor surge of flame nor stream, And yet it is, inscribed without a mark, From that which was before the birth of time. No hum, no purl, no murmur from the dark, Only the stillness cradling ancient pain, A wound too vast for thought or syllable, A joy too wide for prayer or sacred trance. It dwells within my dream, within my pulse, It walks with me in days and after days, When soul departs the house of crumbling clay. It dances with no limbs or postured grace, And sings the song no hearing ever knew. It sees through sightless depths, unnamed, unformed, It is and is not—shapeless, wide, and still. The space where even space has ceased to be, A fullness made of uncreated void. It is my life, my death, my silent flame, The rootless root from which I rise and fall. @prabir Gayen 28/06/25/6: 54 AM.