A Life Ironical

by Venkat

Life meant to be

In movements to and fro
In exchange within and out
In a constant act to purify
In holding not beyond capacity
In losing not beyond need
As our own breath

Yet we are inclined

To accumulate as much
Until we cannot take anymore

To not see impurity from pure
Until we poison our shield

To worship one sided ideals
Until we become blind with fear

To reject mind’s every enemy
Until it turn out to be ourselves

2 Comments to “A Life Ironical”

  1. Great poem, Venkat . . . Life is a mystery – a gyroscope just a micrometer off of true; and once it starts to ‘wobble’ it doesn’t take it long to crash . . . Not for some of us; but for all of us . . . Blessings . . .

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