A Mind with a Mind of its Own.

My mind has a mind of its own. When left at it's own mercy, its hunger pangs prompt it to scrape for substrate to keep it going on the perpetual theatre of thought.
Call it idleness if you will.
Be it rocking lazily on a chair after completion of a scheduled task, a would be siesta thinning into a nasty headache or a walk down the river valley to counter the setting sun. The mind imposingly and haughtily occupies its throne among the trinity that is mind body and soul.
It can flutter on heart’s wings, voyage over loneliness, to the shoulders of a dear one, stalk them over distance and time without their consent or cognizance. It can connive its way to the lips, spawn a wily curve after flashing an episode past, of a mischievous escapade with friends upon the inward eye. Sometimes to weave a poem out of nothing, maybe an encounter mused over and over, dappled with a murky sense of idealism.
Like a seed, sprouting within moments, to become boughs, heavily laden with fruit and leaves, hanging indefinite and abstract.
Sometimes they lay an ambush and suddenly am like a deer caught in the glare of intruding headlights. Agitated and subdued in equal measure. Fleeting thoughts hanging on loose ends. No time to lay a finger on a single one’s pulse. They bring me to my feet, twirl me around on the same spot, and then sit me down again. The agonies of an untold story. Did they come before their time?
Beasts occasionally have a field day hitting the roof protesting and demanding an equal and fair hearing. Their attempted siege carries the day sometimes, ending in a toast to anarchy and discord. Forcing chaos out of painstakingly detailed order. Toys become the product of antiques and priceless trinkets. Turning upholstery and drapery into hammocks.
More often than not, their celebrations are short-lived. The angels shake off their momentary fall from grace to hoist their flags in the king’s courts once more. Talk of sweeping and decisive reforms. And the castle is pristine and refined once more, at least till the next invasion.
Somebody once said, we’ll call him a wise man, greatness consists in responsibility over each of your thoughts. What if my mind only breathes life into loose cannons and I dare to call them thoughts? Consider you experience over sixty thousand thoughts a day, a figure that has increased ten- fold in only a century.
Let us nurture the novel and noble, and in turn stifle the treacherous threads the subconscious thrusts upon us. If in doubt, we shall hold them against the multifaceted screen that is our world and its societies, for a more insightful and engaging discourse.