The Thought, The Writer, The Paper, The Ink.

So many days pass by,
The time keeps ticking,
The youth of today don’t see where they’re heading.
So many disputes, losses and quarrels,
We keep failing to understand the essence of our Guru.
No matter who you are, where you are from,
Why can’t it be accepted that we are all one?
People say so much and do so little,
Their ego blinds them into thinking they aren’t in trouble.
For every saint has a past,
Every sinner has a future,
But see that is irrelevant if you do not realise this creator.
Satsang is a blessing for our core,
A potential to be divine,
That’s what we are taught.
Yet still, we neglect those who adopt this truth in their every pore.
For they don’t judge, they don’t complain,
They adjust their sails to the wind they face.
They earn their respect through their actions,
Yet we’re still here, lashing out, fighting rage,
Not controlling our words and our reactions.
Who said there wouldn’t be suffering,
Wake up my friend, this is all part of you discovering,
That His plan is greater than any you can imagine,
Just feel His presence and see how everything will just – happen.
One Thou Formless, full of forms,
You manifest within us, yet we still see Your flowers as thorns.
Arise dear soul, live a little above the world,
Realise that whatever you think,
Your pride, jealousy and reasoning is nothing before this Lord.
We all have our own journeys to face, inner battles to deal with,
No one said this path would be easy,
They just said it’d be worth it.

Categories: Poetry

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