THE DOT

Beyond life lies an unfolded Truth,
Lies a cry of untold, unfed and unseen,
Lay a plethora of dimensions.
But what have you seen or felt
Or what has been said?
Amused, whimsical, frantic
All in tiny segments
Creeping, crawling flows into the blood
Like millions of amoeba.
Conscious, unconscious, awake or asleep
Contusion of knowledge, ignorance and discoveries
Pour in ages of discouragement.
What lies beyond, lies afar.
Unseen, unfed and untold,
Thus bringing in darkness and void
And what we forget in time
Is called "the dot”.

                                                   ©  Zinnia Mitra