You see around many things, you concurred and fabricated and take part, you hurt, making you both helpless and sad. And happy and hopeful. You have sense to feel all these. But when you are separated with your senses you feel nothing, it’s an ecstasy and just a fantasy of illusionist life.
The senselessness of being
Fills heaven with rainbows.
Everything is you: life, the universe.
You will shout, sing and dance,
In the space, you occupy.
Now, be in sense, eyes wide open;
Feels the darkness and light,
Sunshine and harsh wind.
Trails of soft, iron trails,
Each denuding life.
These are invisible threads en route to
Common destination: the grave.
Books are bound, framed and forced,
Weeping, smiling they are taught naught.
Perfection and decency are treasures,
Things forgotten and unlearned.
Aging, we grow experienced, then what?
We’re pulled down to the grave.