An insight

My mind often experiences convulsions wherein it presumes itself as the dictator and customizes licenses for itself. It is then that i feel Lost, as we call it, or may be once again the mind, with all its power, names it so.

I begin to experience the change in my attitude towards things which i would have dealt with in a manner completely different, had it not been for the situation. I am no longer happy but neither am i sad.

Is happiness the result of the mind's freedom for indulgence? Or is it the result of freedom from one's own indulgent mind? The vicious thought-emotion-desire cycle, with my knowledge, subjugates my existence and its purpose. 

But then, a state of detachment from anything to everything i possess, serves as an aide, to much an extent. And it arrives with its own risks. There is always a possibility that i become too dormant or expressionless towards emotions around me.

I believe, its the struggle to attain a near balance between these is what they call, ethereal living. And as I traverse this path of the beginningless towards the endlessness, it still remains unanswered...

Is happiness a cultivated attitude of the mind?

Or is it the outcome of internal being, unrelated to mind? 

FLASHBACK

I was at a river bank

afar from all congeries

Sitting on a rusty bench

rewinding old memories.

Not every pain was hurting

Nor every laugh comforting

Flashing across in a streak

it all seemed overwhelming.

Thoughts already plied over

me n my heart, now heavier

Gray clouds, a heavy wind

In no time did they appear.

Felt I then over my cheek

the descend of a tiny drop

Couldn’t decipher if it was

the drizzle or my tear drop.

I left and I turned around

For one last look n it dawned

All that had been trivial then

Now, had an impact profound.

Like the everyday sunshine

Like the river water, pristine

Each day i lived has made me

which now tastes like old wine.

A Mind That....

When upon the roof, i lie

I always feel, i can fly....

Thoughts come, multiply

Into a mind that wanders.

Of all those sour moments

Of those sweet  memories 

Sewn in and out in series

Into a mind that ponders.

Why this happens after all?

Climbing up o'er the wall

Choosing a flight or a free fall

By a mind that wholly renders.

Tangled in a constant quest

A thousand thoughts in protest

Love, marching in to arrest

A mind, that always surrenders.

The Darkest Hour

The darkest corner of the room
And its macabre vastness.
The darkest hour before dawn
Reigning with total vehemence.

No faces, no shadow, an aide
A vacillating urge to cry out loud.
The medley of emotions built
Weighed upon a mind, too proud.


The harmonics of the hanging clock.
The pendulum, its oscillations
Swinging in a range of thoughts
The cacophony of indecisiveness.

The window across, its narrow slit
The influx of a beam of light.
Carrying in a spectrum of hopes
to last until another night.