Divine Perfection
Who are we to grief for the ones that are no more,
Extrude sorrow for the ones that are still living,
Should we not be the preacher who is never distressed?
For we existed before and do so in the future;
Seasons bestow joy and suffering to our senses,
Mortal perishable body as garment to the soul,
Atma chooses neither the death cycle nor its new rebirth;
For I am the destroyer and creator of universe;
Why blame yourself or the unwitting actions of life,
For all deeds abide within me as Param-atma.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
