A Cell Only
A Cell Only

Returning to the sea always makes one whole. As I steep one more in the same saline that has bathed me since my emergence in womb, I recall my journey back home.

As a cell how I bloomed from one to two to four to eight to an almost infinite multiplicity, while remaining one. The sea then was boundless though finite.

Now that aggregate of single union, showcasing itself as human, returns to the ocean and attempts to corpse itself into life. Not so fast, I say, for only total death can offspring total birth.

So, at first, the grain. Waves at the beach continue through, foam-burst and star-burst, through sand and shell, suffuse the spine at its roots, choking off all its diffuse branchings, plumbless, letting go of its moorings.

And then, the marrow in its silence of unknown depths, where selves and cells multiply in ever-expanding zero. Primeval, fresh as new-borns, they multiply and overflow, spill into arteries and traverse the insensate body, in the immerging of death and constant re-birth.

As he descends further into welcoming smiles, the suppressed laughter breaking through every surface, to be is to be particle and wave at the same time. The ostentatious diamond-blue grows in girth, as a pearl in oyster without need for glow, an expanse of dense light, the ocean in its embryo.

And the heart? But a single throb at a lonely point in the ocean, the sea in a tiny cell. And it opens its cavern embracing the stretch of white shaded with rings of sapphire. The heart of the ocean everywhere and here in a cave, beats incessantly even as stilled.

The lungs soak as sponges on the docks drying, breath turning to splutter and spray. Prepared finally for death, as an amphibian seeking uncertain gills to breathe a different blue.

But he dove deeper. His speech the roar of multitude and the crash of silence blind at night with new moon.

And his brain of unseen spaces and unfathomable leaps, seeing the Universe as a single entity, yet divorced in feel, without self and selfish, the wave-cry and wind-cry, the petrel and porpoise.

Finally, the flowering into para-sail. Sucked into the noiseless thinning mirth of skies above, as if another ocean of space into which thought and waves and pulse and cytoplasm are same movement.

Then I, alone, bathed in saline, returning to the first mother, the beginning in brine and its end, of endless multiplicity and endless unity, when the Universe is a vast cell, that am I.

As I, its organelles, protoplasm, DNA, nuclei. As I, its black holes, quasars, neutrinos, galaxies. As I, its starfish, octopuses, nautiluses, anemone. As I, each human, the marrow, neurons, arteries, cells, all as one.

Pariksith Singh

Pariksith Singh is, first of all, a poet and a philosopher, though not of any academic mould. He has evolved, and is still evolving, his own philosophy of life and work which he has been articulating in terms of his very personalized poetry and equally personalized medical practice.

Whether healing a patient, running a business or writing a poem, Pariksith Singh is always looking for that “perfect expression of the spirit in matter” – and this is P. Singh’s unique and consistent signature in all his works.

P. Singh’s literature is the articulation of this “inner quest” for the spirit’s perfection in matter, and therefore an expression of the eternal struggle of form (matter) to attain the supreme fluidity of content (spirit) and content to attain the perfect expression in form.

Ouevre

Faiz Ahmed Faiz: The Neo-Classicist

Prose by Pariksith Singh

Last night, your lost memories came to me As spring steals into the wilderness As the morning breeze skims the desert gently As a patient finds solace without cause These...
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Beyond Existing

Prose by Pariksith Singh

The library is where I was born, decades ago. I have lived here ever since. I move about among the shelves crammed with books, from thought to thought. I love...
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The Paradigm of Quantum Physics

Prose by Pariksith Singh

One of the great achievements of modern science in the last century is Quantum Physics. While confusing to many, counter-intuitive and disruptive of the traditional Newtonian world-views, it has, nonetheless,...
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Anthology

Neither-Nor

Prose by Pariksith Singh

Recently, I was invited to Pondicherry Literary Festival, held August 17-19 last month. This came as a surprise request from a well-known critic and poet, Makarand Paranjape. We had renewed...
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A Crack in Time

Prose by Pariksith Singh

Call me Roxie. I am the rock that can see. It seems I am unlike other rocks. I am the only one who can speak. But it almost appears to...
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The Musical Structure of Four Quartets

Prose by Pariksith Singh

The Four Quartets is a masterpiece. It is Eliot at his maturest, though perhaps not necessarily best with each line. The great achievement of this poem, if one may call...
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