Sunday, November 22, 2015


Nights and days pass in a trice
Chances come not once or twice, but thrice
They are visible through different windows
One lets in light, the other two only shadows

Nature leans on humankind, to act as a bridge
Every individual’s mind is a stitch
Holding together the cloth of consciousness
The matter we love, is not the cause but the consequence

The eyes see a lesser light
When the mind is closed for the night
Not even thieves can enter
But only to a dissenter

Who isn’t enslaved by instinct
Or living within the intellect’s precinct
The eye of intuition
Offers an admission

Living there does not cost a penny
Only requirements are virtues in plenty
That aren’t recorded anywhere
Hoping for a reward, of a life of great fanfare

Two windows are always open
That of instinct and intellect, both interwoven
Into thoughts, leaving the mind incomplete
Longing for clarity, which is easily lost in that stampede

Intuition makes higher knowledge seem succinct
Especially when we don’t live off the fumes of instinct
Which fuels animalistic drives
Creating horrors that have populated human archives

When we overplay the hand of instinct
The mind becomes heavy and distinct
Not unlike the overlords of the jungle
In whose presence lesser creatures tremble

It serves us well in infancy
When the mind has not yet begun to store imagery
Without the flesh, there cannot be expression
Keeping it safe is instinct’s profession

Instinct comes preloaded
But when wisdom dawns, it becomes outmoded
The path of intuition is short but steep
It’s treacherous, if one falls asleep

The intellect promises much
It cannot free us, as long as it holds a grudge
Against a knowledge bank so vast
That it appears as a novice in contrast

That’s not what the intellect likes us to believe
The ego will not let it concede
It’s high place in the mind
By which the world is defined

Untouchable as a star in the night sky
Is intuition’s all seeing eye
More powerful than a microscope
Or a stargazing telescope

Out of reach of the senses
That have already made firm inferences
In the dance of the visible and the invisible
The intellect cannot fathom the inexplicable

A leap of faith
It cannot afford to take
Carefully groomed for the worldly play
Intellect cannot turn around and betray

The faith it is accorded
When it sees it is justly rewarded
By secret praises
The mind showers within its premises

Not one to pick up a fight
Intuition fades into the twilight
Dissecting an invisible boundary
Seen when the body is still and mind drowsy

It can be coaxed back to daylight
Which has long suffered intellect’s blight
The humblest of the three
Intuition offers a guarantee

Of peace at the very least
Keeping the engine of inner life well greased
Galloping past the speed of light
It forms the basis of foresight

It cannot be divined from the shadows
No matter how eloquent is the intellect’s prose
A more evolved form of instinct
Is the intellect, which should make us think

About the light behind it all
That has illuminated every upswing and downfall
Without any prejudice
All the while remaining within this fleshy edifice

Eyes that see shadows
Cannot hope to expose
The intuitive element
That keep the spiritual etiquette

It cannot be bought or sold
Intuition is lightning fast even when we are old
If the world acquired that ability en masse
There would be a new class

Humans of high nobility
Who would put an end to hostility
Not through the long road of war
But by a non violent force majeure

Known to Gandhi and King
Whose struggles are close to being a forgotten thing
Except on anniversaries
When they are forced upon our memories

Intuition is the art of receptivity
Turning the mind away from rigidity
Born out of the aggressive stance of the intellect
Which seeks to expand unchecked

The veil is ready to be lifted
Only for those ready to be unscripted
Such is the nature of intuition
It does not need to prepare for an audition

  • N. Seshadri