“Thoughts” (-Jimmi Black)

O thou!  Mighty thoughts.

Long run ,long run ,long ,long long run.

Are you free to grow and gaze,

Or you just gaze to grow.

Mightier than Sudarshan’s sharpness.

Mightier I say,

Galaxies can be destroyed or formed.

Millions of millions in numbers ,

All are monarch in themselves.

Thy make me feel alive and dead ,

Thou are the creator of all shades.

Happiness ,sorrow all grow

How naturally you have found gardeners to grow.

Illusion and reality of the smell of thy flowers.

Is the question is the roar.

Like the river Ganga in the land of Aryas,

Originating under Shiva’s shade beside mighty Himalayas,

Giving life and talking back in Haridwar –‘The gateway to Hari’.

Sometimes the myths suit.

Sometimes I try to find the truth.

And I just try.

Is there any truth?

You are mightier than the almighty and all the myths.

Thoughts and I whisper.

But again do you bear some flowers or fruits

With no spines inside.

Or you are even dry inside.

Like the cactus ,

Like the desert and its nights.

Sometimes you are like a rolling stone.

And Dylan said everyone is chained.

Sometimes with thee,

Sometimes with this body.

I please myself with.

Is it complex or is it so easy?

Though I don’t deny,

Solution for everything , yes you are.

But where I got to go to get this approved .

Complex or is it so easy?

Sometimes I want to listen those lull bellies ,

Again in my mother’s arms forgetting everything,

Bestowing and felling free.

Sometimes I want to go to asylum for its just not me.

The damage is done,

Nothing can stop.

I guess I may have destiny.

Or is it like destiny only exists.

It seems long ago from now,

When we started.

We befriended and walked together.

But you annoyed and are becoming more.

Am I at the sea-shore,

Where am supposed to meet the sea’s door.

Whatever you are,

Sometimes you please sometimes you kill.

Sometimes you become songs sometimes poetry.

I try to find ways to ease.

Sometimes you are like my black hat,

Bringing dignity, pride and greatness in me.

But then again you fades.

Its not that concrete.

Is my poetry a truth or is it because I didn’t had a good sleep?

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