Mind at its business

It is painful.

To be in a state of advice.

The heart beats at an abnormal rate.

And there is complete loss of vision.

Due to the perfect solutions at hand.

Accompanied by the realization of myth.

Holding the composition of the neurons together.

To cleanse the process of thinking.

It is painful to be in a state of comfort.

Activating the defence mechanism for everything.

Arguing, to get hold of the cumulative decisions to be decided.

Nervous, about the outcome which might not be favourable.

Almost ruining the day's unplanned happiness.

Breathing doesn't help nor does positive thinking.

The mind is clearly confused by the clarity at its disposal.

Continuous clarity which kills the simple things in this complex life.

Everything or nothing

Can you fetch my soul?

I just lost it.

From the seventh to the fifth house.

And from the fifth to the seventh.

It has been six months may be more.

In between somewhere.

I see that so called mad man.

Shouting to the sky sometimes.

Eating the leftovers from those tea stalls.

Some kind lady offering rotis and daal.

In the maze of neatly kept newly financed cars and motorcycles.

Paan shops and juice corners.

Right there somewhere I lost my soul.

My sense of distinguishing the right from the wrong.

My peace of mind.

Lost in the fleet street.

The push and the pull doors smiling at me.

"Here you come early in the morning"

"There you go late in the evening"

"Half of the day in the basement."

"Rest of the day in the wooden and glass box."

"Waiting for the sun to set."

"Waiting for the thoughts to hammer you."

The mirror in the lift smiling.

The message in the notice board smiling;

"Happy is he who has no expectations."

"For he is never disappointed."

Someone leaves to come back again.

Others join to never leave.

The road to the old capital.

Leads through the mind.

In between the old capital and the service lane.

It does some searching.

Laughing at me. Running away from me.

I don't have the expectation to get it back.

Nor does it has the drive to come back.

Speaking tree in between.

Fiddling with the briefcase full of sanctity.

Insanity. What else?