I sit in Class.
The Professor talks on,
The Students argue on some Inconsequential Matter.
They talk of Symmetry.
They talk of Quantum of Punishment,
Of Quantum Of Justice.
They talk of Sophistry.
They reduce Culture to Nothingness.
They reduce My Identity to Culture.
They reduce My Identity to Nothingness.
They term this Adaptation.
They describe Adaptation as Growth due to Change.
They believe Change occurs due to Destiny.
Due to Strife.
(Cosmic Cycle or some such thing)
I sit in Class,
The windows once so large, now diminishing in size
The walls closing in on me.
My thoughts running about in complete anarchy,
My solid spherical Universe changing into a bell jar.
My fear of mathematics manifesting around me as things,
Oh! How I wish Indians hadn’t known Pythagoras,
The heat, stifling, as if coming straight from some everlasting Heraclitean fire.
I am pulled taut as a string of the lyre,
My strings lay determined by another cause,
I can feel all the control slipping from me,
I can feel destiny trying to run its own course.
I understand nothing. I know Nothing.
Yet that is knowledge. Can I know and not know at the same time?
What am I? Am I merely an effect of a supreme cause?
Am I But A Tragic Figure Of Destiny ?
– Yashasvini Kumari