Cultured shouts emanating from the shadows
Drowned by playful noises in concrete meadows
That shadowy voice doesn’t turn hoarse
It’s silent whispers carry immense force
It’s message is one of hope
As one makes it up a steep slope
That is the darkness within
Deep underneath one’s own skin
Intrepid explorers follow the faintest sound
That get’s louder when no one’s around
It offers a seat to rest on
The fortunate sit there waiting for dawn
For the rest, life only starts when the mind wakes
Into the game of give and takes
Rarely is any question asked
As superficial tests of ownership are easily passed
That voice without a form
It isn’t part of a ghostly swarm
Nestled behind every thought
Weighing whether it ought to be bought
Percolating down to the trivial
Preoccupied with the convivial
Identifying with those forms
One assumes that’s where the voice belongs
Each object has its own resonance
Through which it seeks to assert its presence
There’s place for none when the curtain's drawn
Why wait for death, one can see it in a daily yawn
But the nature of the senses is to load
Till the mind threatens to implode
It is held together by faint notes of music
Accompanying the voice that’s intrinsic
It is an auditory bribe
To help imbibe
That voice’s import
Why wait for it to exhort?
It will never sound convincing
To anyone who has mastered winning
The game of superficial living
While harboring a deep misgiving
Eroding trust in a voice that’s innate
A relationship we refuse to consummate
Busy with dreaming and living
In thought skyscrapers that appear gleaming
It’s useful life will one day end
There is no way for us to extend
A plea for more will not be heard by time
Enquiry must begin when in one’s prime
A sweet spot where one can amalgamate
Strands of will, helping abnegate
The shell which can only echo
But powerless to veto
The consensus of the senses
Which are very poor defenses
No match for entertainment’s onslaught
Making one act without any forethought
Once the pull of the gross is breached
The realm of the dreams is reached
Where that voice may be stronger
Still is secretive no matter how eager
It is easy to forsake a dream that appears unreal
But impossible to shake the belief that this is all too real
Many generations have passed through this parody
Living off time’ charity
There are two voices to everyone
A revelation given when the journey’s begun
Subtler the pitch, more likely one gets the key
Long held by a loyal trustee
Who lives beyond the marshy swamps of dreams
That are fed by endless thought streams
One’s safe only when both feet have left that ground
Into a dark mist that’s held up by sound
One would be walking on clouds if that’s all there is
Entrenched in faith, nothing would seem amiss
Just look at the earth which floats in space
A giant ball that isn’t supported by a base
A new normal would be a lecture in the dark
Given as one climbs aboard the inner ark
Before a tidal wave sweeps one away
Let the inner voice lead the way
- N. Seshadri
