“Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life and you will call it fate.”
― C.G. Jung
Wheels in disguise, we born,
On a moment marked precise,
Named out of an impulse of dawn,
Formed out on the night of fetish and gin.
Meaning to existence, so cryptic, we think.
Stiff to knowledge, evasive to wisdom,
Bouncing back within boundaries,
Wheels in disguise, we run.
Only if we stop, stop thinking,
Running, reaching, breathing,
Only if we fall, deeper than dreams, faster than love.
We may, make unconscious concious,
Finally break the fate, shed the disguise and be great!
Writing a poem is like exploring a world. Each and every time, it’s a different world, unique and amazing and with its own essence, when you capture it, that’s when when succeed as poet. At the same, the world you explore never exist the second before you make your mind, that’s why writers are called creators. We create, not material, but worlds within our minds, for which our words serves as a way!
Written in response to toads – Get Listed with hedgewitch: Mind and Symbol. One of the toughest prompt I have ever written.