Written by: Sakhi Maheshwari
Edited by: Mehul
Illustrated by: Deepshika Bannerjee
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The world that lives on today,
is constructed with heads among the clouds,
and legs that are cemented to the very ground.
Their bodies,
stretched out,
by the thought of all that exists,
and all they exist in.
This might make one wonder,
Is the blue of the sky,
equal to the orange of the dawn?
Does the apathy of the non-living,
equate to the empathy of life?
Is the opposite of black,
equal to the color in its opposition?
And perhaps the answer to all is yes
when science has a turn to speak,
yet when the mind wakes up to think,
even science scurries like all the weak.
For out of the battle of the science and the mind,
is born the thought of self.
The self is perhaps an individuality,
that exists for the better or worse.
To explain the self is quite easy,
among the river of stars galore,
It is the narcissus at the edge of the river.
When the sky thunders,
the rain roars and the wind cries,
It is the umbrella that lends protection.
In a gallery that exhibits art and artists
it is the song of poetry,
and the prowess of its words.
In a class of one and many,
it is the wanderer that tries to speak,
it is the seat of subjectivity.
Within the view of,
green hilltops,
an ocean of the blue and white,
and smell of the mist and earth,
it is the idea of the landscape,
and the beauty that it holds.
The self,
is all the unique,
the unknown,
and to many the misfit.
And then we get back to the man,
whose head is where the clouds are,
whose legs are stuck to the ground,
his body stretched out,
it is all he knows and all he is.
Out of the battle of the mind and science,
the self is the bridge between,
all that man knows,
and all that man is.
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