Wednesday, August 12, 2015

From seed to seed

A tunnel with a roof of green
Through which light longs to gleam
Promises at the end are rich
If only one can stop the mental twitch

Leaves stand in attention
Like uniformed guards who don’t question
When the stride is right
The commander will surely come into sight

The tiny seed works in the silence of the night
Knowingly fully well a sturdy wood’s might
Great seafarers of yore
Would not be written in the mariner’s lore

But for those seeds
Which never surface to witness its deeds
Why would it see the need?
When planted in the right soil success is guaranteed

No one’s seen the seed of the mind
The originator of everything that’s dear to mankind
That baton is picked up as a child
With little care of being beguiled

The footprint rapidly expands
By giving into the demands
Of a trunk and its four limbs
Subservient to desire’s whims

The cycle is never complete
Until attention and satisfaction meet
That’s when the gardener may leave
The land of make-believe

The tunnel may be dark
But there may be a hidden spark
Which could light the way
Not just for ones who pray

But also those toiling
To get science rolling
There is very little explained
Of the phenomenal world sustained

By an invisible cosmic seed
That has allowed this life to proceed
When did it sprout?
Some claim to have no doubt

The play may have just begun
Galaxies have many million light years left to run
Nursery nebulae bring forth new stars
Lining up to illuminate countless barren lands like mars

Luckily we are part of a green one
If awareness is lost it may have to be rerun
No need to wait for the end of this journey
To be deemed worthy

Of reclaiming that seed
That has ceased to breed
New life into thought
Scaffolding life’s plot

Unravelling at random
But always with the seen and unseen in tandem
Every road leading out
Leads to a dead end as one is knocked about

Fruits are scattered everywhere aplenty
Eating them leaves the mind unsteady
How else may one get to the seed?
That makes thoughts recede

There are billions of leaves
Foolishly divided into sheaves
By conditioning born of ignorance
Unaware of the master seed’s brilliance

Following what is right
Not what is deemed so in the dark of night
But by the way of the sun
In whose light all beliefs are done

That experience becomes the teacher
Without the need for a preacher
The world may then appear as a desert to that eye
Which has long ceased to question, why?

Footsteps in that desert soil
Will never lead to a repeat of that embroil
It may still be a worldly way
But without the danger of going astray

Avoiding the path made of dust
Requires a great deal of trust
In the power of a reclusive seed
But first the mind must pay heed

When there is such variety to see
The complacent think they are free
What makes one think?
The answer requires one to hoodwink

The mind that claims to know all
Measuring greatness in proportional to its haul
The seed patiently waits
It isn’t the kind that dictates

Awaiting the time when everything is left behind
And thoughts are finally unsigned
Likes and dislikes then fall like a dry leaf
From a mind that has become immune to grief

That may appear to be a state of drought
But a seed will surely sprout
Without waters from sensory wells
Which in reality are just empty shells

When the mind is no more a tunnel with roof and wall
It’s almost certain that misfortune will never call
It is really not the end that people fear
But a new beginning the wise revere

  • N. Seshadri