Very little is known of those
Who sit in contemplation.
Looking within themselves,
Past the physical, past sensation.
They smile and nod, sublime it seems
They look as though they’re lost in dreams
Of something greater than we see,
Of something beyond patience.
I’ve tried to do the same as they,
I’ve tried to stop sensation.
I’ve sat for hours on my own,
I’ve gazed for days upon my thoughts
To slow them down, I just could not
Bestill my mind of crazy thoughts
Or growing agitation.
Doomed am I to write it down.
To give in to sensation.
Doomed am I to shout it out
Act crazy with oration.
Could I achieve a sublime state,
With nought to say,
And nought to state,
So deep would be my passion
For the act of contemplation.
My mind would be as still and calm
As water on a summer’s dawn.
Desire to please the crowd now gone,
I’d need no adulation.
But karma’s mine to live it out
My chance for waking up in doubt
I still insist I’ll write it out
At risk of pure damnation.
So please be kind when reading of
The passages I’m writing of
And pray that someone up above
Believes in publication
And rallies with the others there
To seek my liberation.