I wake into a world we share,
Of morning light and moving air;
The roads, the trees, the passing sky—
All these are yours as much as I.
You see the sun upon the wall,
The leaves that turn, the raindrops fall;
You hear the temple bell at dawn,
Then watch the ordinary move on.
But what I see is never bare,
For memory is always there;
A color comes, a thought awakes,
And something older gently shakes.
A flame is flame to every eye,
Yet I may see a prayer rise high;
A flower rests upon a plate,
And I may see the hand of fate.
A line of code, a broken thread,
A risk, a flaw, a thing unsaid;
Where others see a system fail,
I see the story in the trail.
A song may simply fill the room,
A rāga bloom and then resume;
But somewhere deep within its tone,
I hear a path that feels my own.
The food we share is taste and cheer,
A feast that gathers loved ones near;
Yet spice and scent can suddenly
Unlock a hidden world in me.
A season turns for everyone,
The cold arrives, the spring is spun;
Yet every autumn leaf I see
Falls through another year in me.
The world has clocks that all can read,
Appointments, targets, tasks and need;
But mine has moments none can chart—
A second measured by the heart.
You see a book, a page, a word;
I hear what once I may have heard;
A teacher’s glance, a father’s phrase,
A voice still living through my days.
You see a room, a chair, a floor;
I sometimes see a sacred door;
For places change when memory stays,
And silence gathers older ways.
You see me speaking, teaching, still;
You see the work, the thought, the will;
But not the questions underneath,
Nor private joy, nor private grief.
You see the man who seems to know,
Who builds, advises, helps things grow;
But not the child who still will stand
In wonder at a grain of sand.
You see the visible design,
The outer edge, the measured line;
I live as well in what appears
Between my thoughts, my hopes, my years.
So this small world I call my own
Is never truly mine alone;
It meets the world that all can see—
Then changes shape inside of me.
And perhaps that is how we live:
We take the world, and meaning give;
One universe beneath the sun—
Yet countless worlds in every one.
My world is small, and yet immense,
A woven field of thought and sense;
What all can see is only part—
The rest is lit within my heart.
–Mani