There are seven eyes of understanding
some people in life are so commanding
but the divine wisdom behind them all
is to rise up in knowledge and not fall.
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Just as there are seven planes of consciousness - seven spiritual states - so also are there seven states of understanding. It is always seven. The number seven is the divine number. The seven understandings are:

Eye of Instinct: governs the animal world which includes insects, fish, amphibians, reptiles, birds and mammals.

Eye of Intellect: rules most of the common human realm of existence.

Eye of Inspiration: is for those human souls whose feelings are developed like poets and artists and other creative people.

Eye of Intuition: is for those advanced human souls who have conscious visions and understanding true to the point. What you understand by intuition is always true. What you understand by intellect is sometimes true and sometimes not.

Eye of Insight: human souls on the fourth and fifth plane have insight; their understanding is direct, without thinking with the mind.

Eye of Illumination: means seeing God as he is and is experienced by those human souls who see the Light of God inside and outside of their mind. The understanding is divine.

Eye of Integration or Realization: this is the merging, becoming and understanding of oneself as God (the I am God state – Nirvikalpa Samadhi).
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it sleeps
wry, the tide of meaning seeps
transpiring through erosion, til
the cracks reveal a secret,
hollow, in the highest hill
which scrapes the sky

through night and day which pass us by
within the blink of an eye
the howling of the wind in interim
un-winged beings wish to fly
sweeping dirt and dust and dusk and dawn
away into the emptiness
that claims itself as nought; abyss, 

it sleeps

the bidden meaning of the deep
eternal matriarch of heaven’s rays unfurling
only wakes to blink an eye
and see the world return to starlit sopor
light which shines beneath the mind
betraying souls against their mortal forms
it eats

it eats of liminal things,
of transience in space,
and whilst we race
unending to our deaths
til nothing’s left

it is consuming
of the moving
til inert
in stillness rests
it sleeps

for it knows
the dreams of life
to life bestow
in gestating below

the mind, aglowing
shall it grow
unto the flowing
and the overflow

It wasn’t “I love you”
but at least it was goodbye.

It's like holding

on to a poem you

couldn't memorize,

while your phone's

battery went dead.

finding a pen in an

odd pocket of your

school bag.

to write your palm

into being, at the back

of a half-quarantined

bus.

to forget about the poem

by force of poems that rubbed

it out.

holding on to things.

It feels like parts of you are slipping through my grasp,
and all I can hold onto is a vague fog,
deepening around me.
I wake up, your touch on my skin, your name coming through my stuttered breaths.
And I don’t really know if it hurts less, or it just hurts differently.