the bench

as I stare out my window, I see

the bench that always stares back at me.

in my two years here, never once

have I sat there.

in the gap between me and the bench,

lies everything I thought I might do.

everything I thought I would have already done,

if I wasn't so scared.

in the gap, lies, the memory of (who?)

the youwho reads this

the youwho I talk with everyday

the youwho I haven't spoken to

I can scarcely remember (who?)

in this ether, lies, my entire life

a life, of things left undone

a life, of things left unsaid

a life?

as I inch closer, the bench-

taunts me, invites me, beckons me

ब्रह्मन् is here, for those with courage

I must go to the bench, which

holds for me,

with infinite love,

with indescribable malice,

space --- always.

in this state of aporia,

I rush to the bench!

I sit, and gaze back at

my window, now the object

myself, ceasing to exist

the bench is gone, or

it was never really here.

is this liberation, or imprisonment?

the bench is elsewhere, always-

I fail to find आत्मन्