The Thoughtful Mind

The grass is green

Sometimes when you think

You will never understand how is it?

How does the utopian fire get lit?

A man's mind in mirth

Can carry forward felt atmosphere

Enter into dungeon, alone

Secluded, lonely in a field

He touches the grass near his feet

Feels the tuft and sees it touching grey

He sits down with family, friends

and children

He lives in hue and cry

Yet in his break

He sees the sky

Farmented, looped in smoke

Evoking early pain and hazy lanes of loss

Tears swell up in the morning

After a Freudian dream

His instincts tinge in eyes

His crooked heart rains a lot

Extending hands to anarchy

He feels himself in ashes

Phoenix like he raises head

Finally to break free to the sky