How Ye Played Your Trick, O Ego
Many my joys ye robbed, rob still,
Lifelong ye played on me your trick.
Rather than cure blown bubble’s ill,
Ye destroyed my self double quick.
When hurt O Imposter evil,
You sulked and made the real me sick.
Your whims needed a curing pill
In the form of a whacking stick.
Truth of atman walks nude at will,
But you loved gilded lies to lick.
You often talked of sun’s great chill,
And made my serene nights look bleak.
Tried, tame my mind to climb uphill,
And made it chase your false logic.
But no more, I now know to deal
With you, just wait for my last kick.
______________________________________
Couplets |24.01.2023| mind, mischief
Copyright © Aniruddha Pathak | Year Posted 2023
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment