Bags of Rice

One day several bags of rice
Spilled off the horses in a caravan,
Causing a mess in the field.
The master of the Pasture
Gave quick decree:
“Remove the mess
I order thee”.
The workers poured into the pasture,
Scooping up grains by the pound,
Yet the minute granules seemed
To persistently confound.
Hand scoops became pinched fingers,
And pinched fingers crossed eyes,
Crossed eyes gave way to irascible spirits,
Which preceded abandonment.
The granules took root in soil,
and wreaked havoc in the field,
Little did they know that by ignoring the abstruse,
Great trouble for the next generation they did yield.

Man, Eternal Narcissus

Sentience brings delusions of grandeur,
Fueled by the mysteries of the universe.
We ask “Who is God?”
Then evolve to shun His existence.
We ask “What is Life”
Then descend into depravity.
What is Man?
A creature so haughty as to believe,
The very skies rotate around him.
For is that not how we live our lives?
In servitude to our ego?
Slaves to our emotions?
Obsequious observers to our incorporeal whims?
Such complexity in the supreme Earthly being.
Your beliefs, are they True?
Your convictions, are they Real?
Do you strive to make war over virtue or pride?
Your worries, are they Heavy?
Your tears, are they Pure?
Do you strive to make relevance to all creation?
I doubt it.
For we are captured by our reflection,
We stare into it longingly, for it is all we see.
We are blind to the vantages all around us,
Blind the images that surround us,
No all that astounds us,
Are the deep eyes blinking back in the water.
Do you search for the answer with the answer?
Certainly not.
Liberate yourself from the gravity of the ego,
Retrieve yourself from the self centered universe