The mind has a pace that is second to none,
Rampant and bereft of all that can be done.
Like stepping on two boats with a leg in each,
Where I am and what I see, is not within reach.
Skipping swiftly over the stoppers of real world,
The mind has, through plenty, swirled and whirled.
Time that waits for none at all,
Would seem to move to bleak doom and fall.
With the hundred pelted stones and stuff,
The mind, has lost its calm, its weather rough.
With no time to handle the wallops of thoughts,
Through a frenzy the mind must fight, lest it's zeal rots.
The calm flowing waters ought to describe the mind,
Tranquil, deep, and regardful, the level needed to find.
The doubts and the erratic beats of the heart,
Must not the resolve in any manner thwart.
It takes time for gaining the passion of peace,
Enduring the travail, takes us to the wise breeze.