Threads of the Palace

I reach deep into the reserve of minds

Into one who is not, yet exists in all kinds

And pick out beads of shining gold

Precious enough to have kept since old

And within a blink if its fateful grasp

My treasure sinks to the rifting past

Only to reach its deepest reach

To the million partitions, comfortable in its niche

Yet live in its torture or blissful truth

Of the meagre moment in its lifetime of youth

And break past the passing hand of time

A jump to the past, yet an imitative mime

Finally, I realise after a chain of thoughts

Bundled in a thread of reminiscent knots

I free myself with the sword of now

With a wisdom of the future, thus, I am endowed

Yet exists this future, in its mysterious ways?

Time's horizon may always be beyond our gaze

(Inspired from Art of thinking lecture on memories)