Wandering above the dismissive gradient,
A quirk stumbled my mind:
Would I ever sense the scent
Of layers I lay behind?
Revealing a shovel of thought
I started mind’s unforgiving dynamo,
Lubricant of reason fought
Rusty ego covering many a woe.
Brushing aside the dusty inroads,
Where rationality and logic reigned
And showered many welcoming odes;
Not the target, still my lips openly feigned.
Somewhere I heard a frail melody;
In the dark alley of the subconscious, I reckoned
Bustled along the crowded thoughts in parody,
Till I reached a warm, lonesome bend.
There I found the heart;
Crouched beneath the shield of head
I reached out to feel the surface so soft
But fearing hurt to self, immediately retracted.
Strength I have but courage seems short;
Frail I may be, but insensitive ’am not.
Will it take a stronger will, I wonder;
But every time, to the thought of mind I surrender.
This trail has left many doubts within,
Looking, trying; failing, seething.
Divya Rao
April 3, 2008
Mumbai, India
