Nupur Chaturvedi

Am I there when I am not there?
Or does this existential angst cease with my existence?

Last night I dreamt I was a hummingbird,
Hovering over my body, watching me sleep,
The rapid eye movement was slower than the flap of my wings,
But the impulses flitting in my brain were too fast to track.

Am I conscious when I am not conscious?
Or is this out of body experience a dream within a dream?

I met a seer one day, and gave him a cynical up and down,
‘I know all about you. Your cult is a sham, your philosophy a scam,’ I said.
He laughed, ‘You believe a lot, for someone who doesn’t believe,
And think so much about that which you don’t believe is there.’

Am I a believer when I don’t believe?
Or is reality just as much a charade for everyone?

The questions remain and so does the doubt.
The angst remains and so does the fear.
The conscious is all I can see.
The truth, which was to set me free,
Was always, I now know, a figment of my imagination.

What I can’t see can’t be both, there and not there.
Oh, what does it matter? In both cases, it will disappear!