Aham Shivoham
Not in the stony heavens where painted gods reside,
but in the dust and dirt of weary roads, in the salt of ordinary sweat,
in the silent ache of bones, after the labour is done,
I move, unseen, unclaimed.
Not in whispered prayers, chanted hymns nor divine megaphones,
but in the breath between words,
in the pause between birth and death,
where all dissolves, and yet remains.
Aham Shivoham.
Hands rough with toil plough my name in fields,
hands that search, feet that wander, hands that hold, feet that stand,
all touch the same earth, that has no master.
The river flows, asking nobody where it must go,
the seed bursts, never fearing what it will become,
the mountain sits in meditation, neither seeking nor resisting the sky.
So too does the pulse of being, silent yet drumming,
chasing away the false and the truth,
until nothing remains but the knowing.
Aham Shivoham.
No crown rests here, no palace of glass, no burden of past or future,
only the stillness that does not fall, break, shatter,
only the fire that burns but does not consume.
Praise falls like dry leaves, blame scatters like dust—
the wind takes both, knowing neither.
Joy rises, sorrow fades,
but beneath them, the unmoving current flows, knowing neither.
Aham Shivoham .
Not bound by hands, nor held by names,
I am the surrender and the rising,
the wound and the healing,
the dance and the stillness within.
Not distant, not apart, not beyond—
but here, in the dust and the flesh,
in the yielding, in the knowing.
Not seeking, not fleeing,
simply this, simply here, simply now.
Aham Shivoham.
And in the stillness before the first breath,
in the hush after the last,
in the space between them, Shivoham —
there, I am, neither lost nor found.
Aham Shivoham.
(On the night of Shivarathri, February 26, 2025, when Shiva is worshiped & celebrated as God! I thought where am I? Who am I? Inspired by the Nirvana Shathakam & the Ashtaavakra Geetha, & filled with perceived emptiness, this is what happened!)
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