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Poem

My mind is a mystery,
It knows all that I know
scaring me out of my wits.

Methinks,
I cannot hide my thoughts—
That’s insane!
Why would anyone know
my innermost thoughts?
Least of all, my mind!
That’s between my 
soul and my conscience,
Why would my mind 
corrupts my thinking?

Mind is gullible and malleable,
It is like a putty
A kneaded dough
A tilled field sitting fallow
Like a placid pond
Like a clean slate
Like a blank sheet of paper,
It reproduces what it sees, hears, feels
And interprets in its own ways,
I don’t want it to defile 
or adulterate my thoughts!

If I let go off my mind,
Will I get back my sanity?
Making me at ease?
Peace at last?
Making me think freely,
independently, unobtrusively?
Without my mind knowing
what I am thinking?
I don’t want anyone or anything
any longer to be privy to
my innermost thoughts;
I want to think without
my mind being aware of it!
Will they call me a mad man
if I comprehend with my heart,
with my soul, with my conscience,
And not this manipulative mind?

How do I walk on the water
and remain afloat?
Fly free in the sky
still rooted to the ground?
Look in your eyes
and judge your soul?
Befriend the devil
and fight my demons,
Accost God and manhandle Him,
Dwell in the heaven
and yet remain alive?

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