Betwixt and Between,
The Me who Thinks,
And the Me who Does,
Is an invisible Chasm,
My thoughts fail to cross.
Every sensible knowing,
My tongue picks up,
Are those that escape,
And seem to have,
Fallen through the Cracks,
Amidst few unguarded Neurons.
Most times
My thoughts walk up to the edge,
And Free Fall into that deep Ravine,
Never to be retrieved,
Leaving me in waiting,
For a Thought Pole ,
With a line, long enough to touch
The bottom of that Invisible Chasm. Still waiting
A Nomad in the Mind
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