Mind Games

In shadows profound, where quiet talks,

A game unfurls, slippery, grim.

Not of the heart, but rather of the brain,

A labyrinth of contemplations, where truth is visually impaired.

The murmurs contort, they curl, they weave,

Like ghost dreams that won't ever leave.

Each uncertainty a seed, each seed a catch,

In tangled trap of unpretentious consideration.

Who holds the way to break the spell?

To ascend from where the reverberations stay?

An inquiry posed, a reality denied,

In halls where fears live.

The psyche is sharp, yet delicate as dirt,

It twists, it shapes, it tracks down its direction.

Through vast circles, through quiet shouts,

It assembles its walls, it tears its creases.

A look, a word, a passing look,

Can set the stage, can begin the dance.

A fight battled, yet all the same won't ever win,

A race started, yet distant from done.

The game is old, as time itself,

A riddle locked inside oneself.

The guidelines muddled, the stakes obscure,

The moves are yours, yet not your own.

Is it rout, or is it play?

Is there a decision, or simply delay?

The line is dainty, between the two,

At the point when brain games obscure what's bogus and valid.

However still we play, we pursue, we fall,

Through each ascent, through each wall.

A brain at battle with what it looks for,

In vast circles of contemplations that talk.

The game goes on, through night and day,

A quiet chess with shadows dim.

Be that as it may, some place profound, past the cloudiness,

Lies harmony for the individuals who leave the labyrinth.