For Swami Shantanand Saraswati (1942 - 2020)

I'm unending -- for I'm still the "I"
That was and will be till the day I die--
Once just an infant with wide open eyes
That learned to walk and play all day with toys--
Now a grownup in sadness and in joy,
Asleep, awake, disturbed, mad and serene--
Well, who am I indeed? What do I mean?

Am I my body lustful or in pain?--
Hot, freezing, hungry, soaking in the rain--
Am I my thoughts, my fantasies and dreams?
Am I the words that I compose and scream?
Am I my brain, my memories, my life--
Did I exist before I was alive?

And will I still be here when I'm gone?--
These fictions that we constantly present
Congenial or given to dissent,
While hiding behind doctrines from the light--
A Christian, Buddhist, Muslim, black or white--
Or faithful follower of the Scientific cult,
Chained to the darkness of material lies
Without ever asking: Who am I?


   October 20, 2022
--Alexander Shaumyan