The mind reels under subtle strain,
noticing contrasts with sudden clarity;
thoughts circle in muted unrest
at the shifting images of life.
I am neither the force that creates
nor the hand that unravels—
only a witness to the dualities
threaded through each passing hour.
I wonder how nature sustains
this delicate poise of opposites.
A tender sunrise gathers light
at the edge of my balcony,
while somewhere down the waking street
Its glow already begins to fade.
Melancholy settles
in the slow breath of older people,
Yet in a child’s ringing laughter
the world feels newly born.
So I begin to see balance
not as peace, but as passage—
a soft continuum
where endings lean into birth.
Sucharita Parija
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