Sunday, July 12, 2015

The race to divine

Wind-up dolls let loose to roam
The freedom quickly traded for a smaller home
As the drum beats finally wind down
Smiles turns into a sorrowful frown

Parts malfunction or fall off
Deep down it is met with scoff
The trail goes cold beyond that thought
And few venture beyond a vanishing beauty spot

There are many vistas yet to see
Enthralling the explorers out on the high sea
Civilizations leave like floating clouds
The earth has hidden many secrets behind shrouds

In places as deep as the mind
Making it an enlightened rock as it hosts our kind
It’s beauty may be glossed over
With the race to divine there isn’t much time left over

Rolling off meditative mountains
Loose gravel rain down like fountains
Such is the nature of flowing thought
Life is foolishly arranged to fit its wrought

Those who are afriad to fail
Never understand what is behind the veil
Try as one might
It slips away with hands of sleight

Smooth as silk and invisible like the wind
The way within welcomes the kind
Who avoid roads paved with slippery cobble
Where worldly chains making the mind wobble

There is a race to divine
Of what is and isn’t mine
Splattered all over the inner wall
Is more than this lifetime’s haul

Hidden in the attic
May be memories too traumatic
It is easier to be a carefree seafarer
Than to be the mind’s pallbearer

Across the ocean that is painful to cross
Who wouldn’t pity that loss?
When one is busy keeping this life raft afloat
Forgetting life’s promissory note

Given to everyone at birth
With scarcely a mention of its worth
It is left behind in the race to divine
Where the goals of mind and life don’t align

A tree wanting its leaves to live underground
And its roots to be crowned
May not follow nature’s dictum
But it rings true for a man of wisdom

Scented flowers divined from within
Adorn the vase of even those with sin
The race to divine isn’t true worship
When time bound ones are a mere blip

Striving to scale the mountain of health
Dragging one’s hoarded wealth
Fearful of falling into a valley of despair
Which isn’t one's true lair

Beyond time there may be the divine
Whose pen has written many a line
In praise of the those who see the one in all
Calling home this spinning ball

Diverse hatchlings cling on to this blue egg
While the mind is left to beg
Not the way of the wise
Who shun any notion of a prize

Wishing to spend allotted breaths wisely
In seeking the inner sun that burns brightly
Banishing dark clouds of doubt
Under which happiness doesn’t sprout

Superfluous manipulators of memory
Are destined for a life chasing a reverie
That ends when the body tires
Leaving the mind entangled in its mires

Stopping the race to divine
Turns the mind into a shrine
From a bag of virtues and sins
Life’s two great twins

Coloring the world in different shades
Progenitor of endless tirades
Which may only end
When one takes up responsibility to tend

The race director’s call
To drop the prized haul
And swim an upward current
The path of the mythical serpent

Writhing limbs may long for a rest
The victorious are sure to be blessed
Leaving the race unfinished
In the eyes of the world, cannot go unpunished

The race to divine leads to sin
Turning the mind into an unhappy bin
What’s inside seems unbearable to most
Those who have swum through it do not boast

A great tool tragically turns to dust
When winning the race becomes a must
Leaving one with a harvest of weeds
When the body finally fatigues

  • N. Seshadri