In Thy Mind
It is a reservoir of abstractions,
Of connections, conceptions and ideations,
What goes around inside is a mystery,
Things are branched out in a huge tree.
The greatest gift to mankind,
Which often renders him blind,
Pushes him on paths uncertain,
Paths riddled with storm and rain,
With holes big enough to swallow,
Into the depths where others follow,
The depths of abyss and doom,
Where there’s just enough room,
For those who are caught unawares ,
In its twisted, crooked schemes.
All it requires is a peek,
Not recommended for the weak,
For they are to get lost,
In the rabbit hole they just crossed,
For the one who is a seeker,
His spirit shall not waver,
In its treacherous depths,
For in those treacherous depths,
He shall find the answer to the question,
Which made him the seeker.
He looks for God in temples,
As if his mind is in shambles,
Only if he had given it a chance,
He would have had His glance,
In that chaos, there would have been order,
He could have been the Lamb of the Shepherd,
And peace would have been his fodder.