Tuesday, 21 June 2016

Poem -- Maya, The Illusion

It is half filled
And it remains only half filled
No matter what I achieve
Or acquire.

It is half empty
And it remains only half empty
No matter what I fail at doing
Or what I lose.

(Ah! But this cup feels fuller when I give
And when I’m given.
And it feels a little more empty
When I withhold
Or when someone withholds from me!)

I keep running everyday
Like a rat on a treadmill
Hoping that somehow
I shall fill my cup to the brim
And dance in ecstasy with the gods.

I live in the fear that
Some act or failure to act
Will spill my cup
And leave me dying of thirst –
A meaningless creature in the desert of existence.

Truth is,
The cup of this mind that I inhabit
Can never be fuller than it is now
Nor can it ever be drained.

I know this.
I’ve known all along...

But what to do?
The itch of desire
The ache of anxiety
Demands a response, demands action,
Not thoughtfulness,
Not wisdom.

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