The Mind House I am the agent of my own, busy, cluttered house of my mind, situated on the cockpit of self. I am trying to rent out space for prospective ideas to move in. It’s a semi furnished place, not much refurbishment in pace.
If a viewing is arranged, you may find an oven full of half-baked experiences; Inner wiring of perception repaired every other day. Curtains of stereotype removed from the window of eyes. Slammed doors of opportunity and cracked wall of old beliefs. Bed of faith, bedded by my shadow. The sink of perpetual expectations, running and flowing into pipe of nothingness. Three legged chairs of confidence, giving rest to a tired body, and hands placed on the table full of everyday blessings. The washroom is meditative, looking into a misty mirror of memories.
Apart from these, there are miscellaneous objects all around, But am sure, still, there is plenty of space to be found.
Poet’s Note – The poem is a surrealist attempt to juxtapose insides of a mind to a house full of wear and tear, ready to offer space for rent, so that new ideas can always move in.
Human bodies hang in air, thrive on light and air, bloom as crops of soil and water, still need tools to sustain here. All souls desire strength to sustain, to harvest crop, to build home. We get speed to roam
Constellation of stars.. Among, The collection of planets… Give a way to reach toward destination… When storm passes away.. The tidal waves set apart.. By seeing the stars and their direction… We follow the best way.. Its mean stars give