अक्षराणामकारोऽस्मि द्वन्द्वः सामासिकस्य च।अहमेवाक्षयः कालो धाताऽहं विश्वतोमुखः॥
अहमेवाक्षय: कालो धाताहं विश्वतोमुख: || 33||akṣarāṇām a-kāro ’smi dvandvaḥ sāmāsikasya caaham evākṣayaḥ kālo dhātāhaṃ viśvato-mukhaḥ
Word by word
The verse says
Among letters I am the letter A. Among compound words, the kind that joins two equals. I am time that never runs out, and the maker whose faces look in every direction.
In plain words
The letter A.
Every other sound in Sanskrit is built on it — you cannot pronounce a consonant without it sitting inside.
It is the smallest possible item in the whole chapter, and it is in everything anybody says.
Where you've felt this · in creative work
A child learning to write spends a week on the first letter of the alphabet before being allowed any others. It looks like the least important week of the year. Every word she writes for the rest of her life will have that week inside it.
Going deeper
The smallest unit in the list is also the one with the widest reach, and that is not a coincidence.
In Sanskrit the vowel A is not one sound among many. It is inherent in every consonant — written or not, it is there whenever anything is said. So claiming it is not claiming the first item in a sequence. It is claiming the thing present in every item of every sequence, including this sentence.
The grammatical detail beside it works the same way. Among compounds he names the one that joins two things as equals, neither subordinate to the other.
For a reader, this is the verse that explains the method of the whole chapter. The divine is being located not in the largest things but in whatever is so basic that it has become invisible through use — and that is a place you can look for yourself, without a list.