I sit still as a drop on a calm lotus leaf,
Whispers of breeze grant me relief from inner grief;
Crystal-like, mercury-like, puddled, yet, cuddled,
Touching still not-touching; I stay never muddled!

Like a peacock, I took pride in my vanity,
Plunged into profanity of sanctity;
The sun seemed, then, as silly as a painted ball,
The moon was just a gas stall glittering; that’s all!

I’d never revered the lake-like grace that held me,
Nor loved the creatures living there happy and free;
I seemed, to me, a Duke! Baron! No, a Great King!
My glittering seemed as though shine of Royal Ring.

What could this small dragonfly to my nature do?
What could this cuckoo do than so untimely coo?
What at all these butterflies born very charming,
Could do anything else than subsistence forming?

I can, like god Auras, ever halt all noises,
I, like god Hippocrates, change noises to voices;
I can, like god Apollo, float on love poems,
I, like Zeus, God of gods, can destroy all mayhems…

It’s then, when my ego, thus like serpent-hood rose,
And my heart and mind seemed as though in great pride froze;
I felt a cat or rat or bat or bug stalk me,
Hyena-laugh or howl of a wolf, mocking me…

I saw something like the sun evaporate me,
A puff of wind push me into the pond cutely,
Losing my status-quo, I mix with the gleam-glow,
And feel as though getting fully lost in the flow.

Searched my identity; couldn’t find anywhere,
Optimism, yet, within me, is ensnared nowhere;
When? Where? Who finds the soul mixes with The Great Soul?
Could conceit stop me from attaining this great goal?