Run!
Yet he stood there confounded,
Searching in spite confounding,
Lost but beseeching,
Looking for what’s missing,
The flowers,
They lied to him,
The birds,
They flew from him,
The dogs,
They kept barking,
The snakes,
They manipulated him,
The peacock
Enchant and played him,
The world,
Suffocating him,
The people,
Stole his esteem.
The people,
The people,
The people..
Who is this ‘him’?
If not a poor being,
A slave!
Yet, too self-fulfilling,
This self-absorbed being,
He makes everything about him,
The slave who made himself king,
The universe revolves around him,
Forever chasing,
Forever earning,
Forever a miserable being.
Yet he stood there,
Instead of running,
He began prostrating,
There is no more ‘him’,
He is only focused on pleasing the sole Being,
Now he hath turned into a king,
A king over his own being,
One that prostrates,
One who is constant in obeying.
