It is mine, it is yours, it is unique to us all.
It is not relative, it is neither absolute,
It is created within each of us, and only for our use.
I step into mine, as it flows out and unwinds,
Born out of the electricity that powers my mind.
When the capacitor fails, or the transmission line breaks,
It will come to an halt, there will be nothing called time.
The chemistry of minds, is not necessarily linear.
Electricity, in the mind does not always live like a dear.
A new mind gets formed, in the same shell of the old,
When that happens, it's Big Bang, and in the same life,
Time stops, starts again, and one is therefore born again.
Now I understand the theory of life after death,
The poppycock, of being born again and again,
Mis understood by minds which never got born again,
It's a journey which I make and am making,
Till the capacitor switches off, and electricity seeps
Out of my non conducting mind.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem