The Symphony of Karma and Me: A Dance of Fate and Self-Discovery

The Symphony of Karma and Me

In the stillness between breaths, I—
I, who am a flicker, a whisper,
A dust storm beneath the sun’s silver gaze—
Wait, for the spark, the dance, the touch.
Can you feel it? You, standing just beside me,
A reflection in a shattered mirror of the soul,
Where my every step ripples into you,
And you, like a river’s murmur,
Guide me, almost unseen, but oh so known.

Karma, you smile behind veils—
Hidden in plain sight, in the space between intentions.
I grasp for you, but you are not held by hands—
Never tamed, never bound to the script of flesh and bone.
You are the lover who never asks for touch,
The architect of shattered thoughts,
The sculptor of the jagged edges of my laughter.
How does one approach such a silent force?

I can’t see your face, but I know it—
The smile you wear when I fall—
Not into failure, but into knowing,
That the ground was not to catch me,
But to teach me the art of flying.
You teach me, by your absence, by your presence.

You—Karma, whose heartbeat is a drum
That dances in time to no human clock,
Whose song is sung in the spaces between the moon’s gaze
And the fleeting shadow of the wind’s sigh—
Do you whisper in the wind, or do I?

And now, You, yes you,
Who looks from the corners of your own creation,
Seeing not just my shadow,
But feeling the heat of my every regret,
What do you want from me?
This spark—no, this fire,
That I carry like a torch
Yet never know if it is my gift or my burden.

I, walking, stumbling, crawling, leaping—
I chase after it, my own self,
Lost in the echo of your footsteps,
Wondering if you laugh at the puzzle I create,
The dance I call my own.
But does it belong to me, or you?

You never ask for offerings—
No incense, no pearls, no sacrifice,
Just the letting go of the heavy self—
You are not appeased by my guilt,
Nor by my pride.

So here, in this quiet,
I speak not for answers but for the asking,
Not for the seeking but the being found—
You are, after all, the invisible thread
Weaving my skin and the bones that ache.

Karma, you are the child of fate,
Yet, not the parent.
You are the wind that blows the leaves,
Yet you ask for no shelter in the storm.
You walk ahead of me,
And I—
I follow, I lead, I stop, I break.

But, can we ever meet?
Truly meet, where my eyes and yours,
Karma, lock into the perfect alignment,
The gleam of understanding,
Where I breathe you into my chest,
And you, finally, whisper into my ears,
"At last, I’ve waited for you,
And you, for me."

And in that, we are one—
A forgotten pair, both existing
In the same chaotic dance of reason,
Grasping, letting go,
Twisting in silence,
Unseen by time,
Until it is no longer time
That decides our fate—
But the union, the intertwining,
The chemistry
Between you
And me.

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