Memories are transient as a bubble
There’s only rubble after they crumble
These edifices built to individual taste
Can never be fully erased
Through permanent or impermanent sleep
Where they are neatly stacked in a heap
Waiting for the right blend of consciousness
To bring them back to prominence
Giving them weight and density
Is emotional intensity
It keeps us running back
For even more such knick knacks
Sifting through these enormous debris
That could easily fill a mighty sea
Isn’t for the weak or fainthearted
But that journey is not uncharted
Every image in that great catalogue
Spliced together reveals life’s travelogue
But cherry picking ones that stand out
Creates disorder that throws the future in doubt
Time’s wasted putting those pieces back together
To link the past to the future
When every moment offers a fresh slate
To draw a picture of happiness that’s innate
The mind has a bridge to nowhere
Which is never in disrepair
Built for heavy footfall
It’s everyone’s favorite port of call
Picking up bits and pieces
Depicting unique circumstances
The future is fashioned
To mimic the glory of a past imagined
By untrained architects
Taking on ambitious projects
To build ideal homes
Using memory’s heavy stones
Hoping to outlast changing seasons
But that isn’t true freedom
An uncluttered mind is alien to most
The average one is infested with ghosts
Of the past that may be grand or rotten
The conscious mind absorbs it like fine cotton
Which makes the present cold and damp
Turning a joyful life into a forced labor camp
Memory’s a heavy anchor
It can lead to either joy or rancor
Holding us back from a greater vision
That unifies and ends division
There isn’t conscious remembrance
Of this vision, without deep penance
Which scrubs memory’s cave
Giving one the full rights to waive
Mandatory forays into the past
Which may be set aside at last
There is much to be accomplished
The past is a bad accomplice
It’s alright to learn from it at a distance
Standing behind a wall of silence
It is a great buffer
That helps us discover
There’s more to life than stagnant pools
Of memory, which set all the rules
It’s hard to comply
When they change on the fly
Before the paint of memory dries
It’s better to follow the way of the wise
They march on with an empty slate
That carries no weight
Tasting the joy of true freedom
With eyes locked on the soul’s beacon
The past becomes a dark sea no more
Between us and heaven’s shore
- N. Seshadri
