To a blind world

In listlessness I walk
Onwards, knowing not where I go,
But yet where my feet do take
I follow with my mind,
And so, to my weakened body ,
Which, from abuse, constant attack,
Strength, unreplaced finds swirlings.
A result produced and reaped,
Oh, it must be a simple mind
That seeks not the pleasures
Of its internal find,
Which seeks not to aid sudden
Enlightenment, discovery, enchantment,
Of superb unforeseen, yet existent forms.

Yes, here I may extend deepest sympathies
To those who seek not.
Those who, restful find no spice
In complexities of further life,
To those who have ceased
Recognition, even unto themselves!
They are dead, whose ghosts
Are fit, not even to haunt
A mansion of their own
Unlikely , deceased souls .



Poetry by vidura rambachan
Read 78 times
Written on 2023-02-02 at 08:16

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