Feeling The World

With memories of doing and do not,

With uneasy tread through shallow waters,

The seen and felt, arouse a simple move,

More often into vines, whose trunks had disappeared into fetters.

The unseen is more close to us,

With only thoughts to overcome,

Where readiness does not replicate the time,

Complacency rides the become.

Matter clears an inevitable mind,

But its consciousness remains fragile,

Like a pot full of flowers for design,

The rot to hog, to make us senile.