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.