The perennial well of ever-returning thoughts,
Who, incensed by senses, binds them in knots.
Who, with doses of memory, keeps alive the dead,
who, in my assumptive cognizance is well bred.
From whose reflective lenses rise duals and triads,
Who, as a dreamy artist paints events in their myriads.
Who knoweth all knowns but of one’s own birth,
Who killeth even the valiant, like in ghastly mirth.
Whose rising alone raises worlds and their kings,
Whose slumber alone can set one’s wisdom to wings.
Who, as a glorious speaker hath his audience in tame,
But whose origin when questioned hath him bow in shame.
Who though loudly operative is improbable to find,
Thou art the bandit, my insentient MIND.
Who, incensed by senses, binds them in knots.
Who, with doses of memory, keeps alive the dead,
who, in my assumptive cognizance is well bred.
From whose reflective lenses rise duals and triads,
Who, as a dreamy artist paints events in their myriads.
Who knoweth all knowns but of one’s own birth,
Who killeth even the valiant, like in ghastly mirth.
Whose rising alone raises worlds and their kings,
Whose slumber alone can set one’s wisdom to wings.
Who, as a glorious speaker hath his audience in tame,
But whose origin when questioned hath him bow in shame.
Who though loudly operative is improbable to find,
Thou art the bandit, my insentient MIND.
Bundle of thoughts, interpreter of our senses, holder of our memory, the building blocks of our knowledge and assumptions – the mind is the one and everything that builds the world around us. It takes us through events and dresses up our opinions. It has its landlord – me- in such a hold that it operates so fearlessly by its own whims. Truly, only when cornered and questioned of his credentials will he stop and bow in shame to his master.
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