The Past and The Witness

 In times of peace, when the world appears serene,

Old tremors rise within—the unknown and the unseen.
They are not strangers, but impressions carved in mind,
Samskaras of forgotten acts, across lifetimes entwined.

They stir the echoes of an uncomfortable past,
One that cannot dwell with the fleeting present’s cast—
Like phantoms in the inner field of silent thought,
Not foes to battle, but veils to be seen through, not fought.

Life offers second chances, but karma does not forget;
The ledger of the soul records every deed and debt.
New joys cannot erase the shadows etched in being—
They follow the subtle self, in waking and in dreaming.

These skeletons in the cupboard of consciousness remain,
Returning as teachers, disguised in joy and pain.
They steal the illusion of a guiltless, untouched future,
For the jiva must reap what the doer chose to nurture.

Yet beyond the torment, beyond the past’s vast cast,
There stands the Witness—unchanging, free, steadfast.
When the self awakens to the Atman, pure and vast,
The present stands eternal, and the past dissolves at last.

Not in death is deliverance, but in knowledge that frees—
When “I” is known as Brahman, beyond all memories.