Are they potent or does each succumb to a critical pressure?
A pull, an equilibrium of sorts, and the end of the line -
I wonder whether a thought in vacuum could ever survive!
In between, what lies still or dances to a rhythm,
Exists nonetheless, and beyond the circling time.
What happens to thoughts when we move to the other side?
Do they only disintegrate or degrade into meaninglessness?
Or do they save themselves, like automated engines
To be rescued in time? But by whom if we have moved ourselves?
Does each thought aim for a response?
Or are some of them free to propagate?
I used to think that the universe is indifferent
But, it's not, rather it only accommodates.
There might not be a grand plan, or architecture
The universe quietly expands, nevertheless.
What if thoughts really are massive fields - and
What we see, think and seek, are all in sync?
I refuse to label the unknown as merely dark;
I would rather paint it pure and serene, in ink.
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