Let the wind rustle my thoughts
And, disperse the clouded knots
I wouldn’t mind at all
‘coz the agitations torment me not.
In every mind thus goes the story
Rippling sapling of thoughts in millions
Hardly one plucked before another grow
This mystery is an unexplained furrow.
To be whisked with hands both
Thoughts are not matter tangible
But, thoughts are matter discernible
By the minds beyond the trap.
That which is rooted firmly
Like that of an eucalyptus tree
If good , will cement us well
If bad, we will bid a sad farewell.
©cyclopseven. All rights reserved 150510.