Laxman Rao

Maya …The very word is in sync
With enigma on our lands
As enigmatic as thy voice sounds
In thine words; as profound
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What would be the bards first & the final wish?
I suppose nothing but the prescience
Of a true mind absorbed
In imagery revealing its true form
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What's life? A query to put forth
An enigma to behold!
Life is nothing just
But another dream
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Every time… this happens to me -
Who's that! ! ! Who has it writ?
Knowing not… in its delight
It's my own voice; that had it said.
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I've never written a word
Under the influence of my mind
As pure as the serene sense
My thoughts do flow.
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To be a poet
You need to awaken your mind
In the mid night
Of the growing dark
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The feel of the senses relies
On the thoughts of the mind.
In the sense; what we feel
……………….. Is what we think.
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The pride of a poet is something I know;
As a peacock, that proudly fans its feathers
Personifying its perfect ways of dancing,
As the poet lost in its bliss-while reciting.
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The agony haunts the cerebral space
Wherein the mind wanders in its thick constraints.

Akin to the fog of the forest the mind wanders,
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The truth of joy
Is one such thing;
That doesn't keep me intact.
It gives me thrust
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Variations of my mind
Perplexes the psyche of mine
Of those insecure moods
Which depict me moan.
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The smile which I wore
On my face, lacks its
Depiction of true content.
For; it’s a lousy laugh
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The psyche in the most paradoxical phase
Portrays its perplexity as if a prodigy face.
Even from the minute morphs
Unto the highest form of lunacy
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When i'm at work weaving verses
I have my stringent mindset
Trying to explore the hidden psyche
And discover the unseen stars,
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Where the reasoning is
Conscious of some life
I summon my spirit
And soothe my strife.
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Wish to keep my conscience clear
Free my deceitful love or from guilty sex
Hence I disagree that I’m struck by fear.
For; I can’t Love as many as in excess, to my vex.
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Life is a happening of which
No measures can hinder the experiences.
It’s just nothing but a dream- as thee know….
And a reality in its knowing- as I do know.
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What’s this joyousness?
Surfing in my mind
Which I don’t believe in.
The exuberance of psyche
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It's of a great immense pleasure
To be with thou poesy!
Wherein the deeper organs
Responds to the invisible senses
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As comes the morn
So comes the noon
Thus followed by the dark
Which in cyclic gets form (d)
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