Choices Galore Poem by Souren Mondal

What it means? That's tough. I think that to a degree, the fact that you don't know what it means has meaning. It implies that an idle mind can wander wherever it pleases, regardless of whether or not the mind's owner really intended to pursue that thought or not. I think Kelly phrased it once that we are not the author of our thoughts, but rather their recorder. But, you also establish that the narrator of the poem (your conscience) has no power to act, only suggest. This shows power over a wandering mind and all the unwanted thoughts it might bring about. To me it is a poem about struggle. The struggle for control between Souren and Souren's mind. The battle to determine your identity, and not have it be determined by things residing in you that you don't consider to be yourself. This is the premise for all the contrast in your poem. Although it is exaggerated here by the two most opposite things (I.e. Baby blood and rainbows) it shows that you are in a war for dominance over your personality. You are fighting off instinctive or otherwise repressed evils before they can gain an influence over you. The fact that you are acutely aware of these things that you battle with, these unwelcome occupants which we all have encountered, shows you are indeed winning that battle. They aren't able to deceive or corrupt you, because you're smart enough to KNOW this is exactly what their trying to do. Hope this attempt at an interpretation wasn't entirely wrong.

The title alludes to the fact that choices are made every day, sometimes consciously and many times subconsciously. These choices all have implications, some minor, some major, and they can effect future choices. I struggle with the concept of Free Will, and lean toward its illusion.

This, I feel is a deep probe into the abyss of your consciousness. Man is an amalgam of contradictions. At times there flashes through his mind murderous thoughts, at times he longs to embrace the essence of beauty and such finer things. At times he wishes to satisfy his bitterness by drinking blood from a skull or enliven himself by sipping a cup of hot tea. He has before him several choices. This poem, I feel is a projection of a mental state that ocillates between humaneness and brutality! You seem t be greatly disturbed by the pain of foeticide or infanticide! The poem is as complex and puzzling as one's consciousness!

I came back to this poem here, Souren.I 'm all the more persuaded that you have a great talent in you.I would like to see you trying small poems too.Best greetings from Hellada.

I came again, for third time, to this poem, dear Souren.I thought of it trying not to have into notice the comments followed.My conclusion affirms my my first impression.Only poets with immense mendal abilities can write such a poem.//To face problem you mention in poet's note, you have to adress a great medicine doctor on the matter diagnosed.Minor doctors can not always help.Great one can make miracles when you want it and I'm sure you want and can it, dear friend Souren..

You have choices galore in this life and you have a soul. I read this as a soul speaking to its form. There are so many capacities for the thinking mind to explore. Yes, some may act out these actions and some create them with a pen. Is it real or metaphor? Going there in the writing creates pain but also understanding. Being an empathetic human being can be very difficult.

Sit back and relax- - - - This is the moment for you, it is your moment to have your coffee- - - - Don't allow the good moments to slipaway- - -Give youself the time- - - - - - - - Feel yourself worthy of love and every thing nice- - - - -Or you will be surrounded by darkness or dark thoughts

What Denis Mair wrote and your response to his words are both so eloquent. If you were uncertain of what to say about your own composition, he freed your voice to speak candidly and thoroughly. Something analogous happened with Mike Smith's commentary and your response. The poem itself was a psychodrama to read but these two exchanges have shown how truly revelatory such a poem of abandoned, untrammeled imagination can be. I'm copying this whole shebang because it reveals truths which take us to the roots of our divided, troubled, Dostoyevskian nature, and as such it's an act of courage on your part as the writer and an act of faith on my part as a reader. I realize this took a lot of psychic energy on your part to do this. But what a gift to your readers to take this journey and share the discoveries. (Look at the opening stanza of the EPIC OF GILGAMESH for a paralle!)