The Death Of Thought…

Title: The Death Of Thought…


[prelude]
Is a thought a thought or just a word
Was thought ever meant to be but a mere accident of thy creator
What is it to be, if being is all but unreal
What is real if not another word, a sheer pleasantry for thy senses…

[birth]
Is there a word in the thought of a child as it cries.
Is the love of thy mother all but a mere web of words
Is to be liked a feeling, or the thought of a feeling all but a word
Is to be alive, a mere thought or an ephemeral fragance of a withering flower…

[childhood]
Does a thought drape itself in slumber
And slip into dreams on cool summer nights
Does it hide behind clouds and play as a child,
And blossom to a youth in the castle of thy minds…

[youth]
Does a thought arch itself, amidst dew drenched flowers
And wear a new garb, as seasons wax and wane
Is it the wind that caresses thy face, as the love of thy Almighty
Or is an angel’s whisper in thy ears, of a feeling that’s newly born…

[adulthood]
Is a thought but a flock of birds
A flock of birds that nests in the wings of thy imagination
Is it’s color a feeling or the flight of thy thoughts
What is red or blue but a streak of sensation to the veils of thy eyes…

[death]
The death of a poet would be the death of a word
As it slips into the darkness of after life
Would the word live far beyond, in thy minds
As contagious thoughts that plagues humankind…

[beyond]
Would it go far beyond the realms of the poet's mind, it once enslaved...
In search of meandering rivers, of words that have no banks
banks of thoughts, that he fights and prays
prays to fade away, in the very womb of it’s mother…

[postlude]
What would thy give…
To measure the freedom of thy thought
The thought that sets you free, of all thoughts and feelings
Or is it all but to a word’s whim, we fall to, defeated…and slain.