Secluded Life
Wrapped in somnolent skin
Deprived
Of any sensation whatsoever.
Dispassionate,
Insensible.
Vacant eyes dissolved in smudges
Of weariness.
And behind, deep inside – a secluded life.
It should be careless.
True, it is indifferent to
Material world,
External disturbances,
Even to its own
Body – as if the body is a foster child
Molested by the malcontent
Father
Neglected by the mother who's tired
Of it all.
But inside, deep inside there is
Its preoccupation with itself.
It feels the external
But doesn't feel
As a part.
Inside life is lived
Truths are revealed.
It breeds, it grows, it protects, it nourishes itself.
It loves.
Secluded – because able to be constructed
And expanded on its own.
AND because it is in its nature
To be secluded.
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