A magnet's aura

The curtain to the backstage remains hidden by changing colors in the day

No such surprises at night, if only an owl could watch

Not many can turn their heads all the way back

Tethered by eyes seeking escape

From tight strings intertwined by constrictor knots

Windows given to us not large enough to feel the pulse

Of a good life that seems to quickly pass by

Reversing this entanglement is left for another existence

Like a magnet that never fails to attract

The doors to the storehouse will surely open

Circumstances flood in looking for the perfect fit

Easily claiming victims with tailor made sorrows and joys

The hapless mind runs out of shelves to store them all

Longing for change of careers, to one that offers a peaceful transition

From day to night, currently an effort laden enterprise

The scales weighing this don’t have atoms as building blocks

A race worth winning

A rolling start gets the race underway

Around an ellipse holding everyone’s attention

With engines failing to tire, brakes aren’t needed

Fast or slow, the journey never stops

Through tunnels, mountains may be traversed

If already dug, the job’s easier

Connecting north and south

Ideals are raised, as the southerly traffic thins

Like wisps of cotton, only the lightweights rise

Struggling to stay on course for even a loop

With no traction on the road, hoping for merciful winds

Their rise or fall, banking on how the budding wings are tipped

The engines fire when the racers are ready

From mighty galaxies to a tiny thought

Everything revolves around a track

The center is dark, so are troubling thoughts

Reflecting on a mirror

The world is turned upside down

Not through darkness but by light

When hidden in the recesses of the heart

What is a mirror going to show?

Amusing spectacles would be worthless without the flame

Turning ice into water

Blowing bubbles in the silence of space

Is not a child’s play

Walking on clouds backlit by auroras in the north

Is a flight of fancy, but such is this place

A rocky outcrop with a sky for a Stetson

Holding fiercely competitive heat at bay

Training the mind - 11

Shapes and shadows

Space is full of them

With room for everything

A star gazer is ever enthralled

We generally think of life as a circle. But the concept of time is not circular, it is more linear. We cannot go back to whatever may have happened in the past except through memories. And we can only travel into the future through fantasies. A lot of people unconsciously affirm to themselves that the present is boring, by dwelling either in the past or the future. Thus they create an imaginary circle that runs from the present to the past and the future and back to the present. Rather than being at the center of this imaginary circle, watching the play of thoughts do their thing, we allow ourselves to hitch a ride on this “time travel”.

Thoughts are very agile. Imagine one actor donning many roles, effortlessly morphing from one character to another. Now imagine this actor wearing a very colorful and intricate costume. A close up on any one part would appear very different from another. But when seen from a distance, the whole is seen and the intricate patterns seem to weave into one another. It no longer looks like an abstract design that is seen from up close, but a costume on an actor. Similarly looking at individual thoughts in isolation creates a pattern in the mind that may not be easily understood. But looking at the mind from a distance as a painting with many colors and patterns represented by the thoughts may give us a better perspective of it.

Dormant belief

Waters run deep

In the wells

Sustaining life

What we hold dear

Is protected by

Slippery walls promising

Much to those

Staying close

To these waters

Forgetting memories

Of great men

Appearing each generation

With bodies resembling ours

And minds like humane aliens

Reading a script wavering little

Unlike ebb and flow of civilizations past

Raindrop in the mist

A cloudy descent

Casting a shroud

On grand maidens

Of nature, standing tall

Watching over the plains

Keeping cold winds at bay

Ragged peaks

Measuring up to the alpine

Way of life, a soul quenching

Trek above the tree line

Leaving the forests of thoughts

At the bases of mountains below

That cradle, the magic called life

Sprung from single celled

Ancestors, standing the test of time

Living in an invisible mist

Wine in a paper cup

Miles roll by with time

Is there an end in sight?

If there is, what’s beyond?

There’s never an easy answer

If you ask of life

Where probing with words

Only pretends to plumb its depths

That is, if one isn’t afraid

Of what’s hidden

In the vineyards of the mind

Throwing up fruits

Ripening on the vine of life

The taste of which

Brings up surprises

Showing even robust plans as

Weak and shallow