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I am your ever-changing Mind,
Accused often of No Existence,
By your brilliant Advait kind.
I am but a pack of your
Umpteen formless thoughts,
Yet easy to unravel like a tiny
Piece of Cloth.
You can catch me Not.
I run faster than your
Fastest trains and Airplanes,
Soaring on your very own,
Countless precious Thoughts.
For holding all you want,
I need no space at all,
For I being a mass of,
Your many priceless Thoughts.
For making me so Special,
Is ever His Grace after All.
Not easy to be tamed,
I am like the strewn little rocks,
Blocking all your Spiritual paths.
Yet a sheer touch of stroke
Is plenty to silently breathe my last.
You may make me your ally,
An apple of your eye,
By Changing and Transcending,
All your Worldly Thoughts.
Perhaps then I may reach you,
To your Source Supreme somehow.
Mind you, I ever remain
A Figment of your Thoughts. |
