Vast heaps of songs from long ago keep reappearing,
legions of poets whose verses you carry in your heart,
oceans full of experiences you cradle in your memory,
life giving birth to a miracle born pristine,
learn to receive this gift we must,
as we toil or lay star-gazing.
A mind cemented
given empty reasons
by those who came before.
A heart shut down and torn
by fear and anguish.
O the immaculate vision
whose remnants prevail
even after I see it being slain
over and over again!
O the messengers;
leaves, rain and sweet verses,
the face of a friend,
the night's silence,
which are full of joy unhindered!
The nectar of every moment,
spoilt rotten by the divided mind!
All hearts connected,
as one suffers they all do.
Dare tread the path your dreams imagined!
Honour the gift life bestowed upon you!
Answer at once the call, don't just sit there watching!
A life in the making,
a self in progress.
It is in striving that we find purpose.
O the crowds of corpses that gather!
Dead before their time has come,
thus their vision rests uninspired!
You will not do them a favour
by fitting in among them.
Rise above them,
dare command the life-force that forth propels you!