The joy of being -II
What dwells in light is blind to darker shades,
Unfixed by boundaries, yet tethered close;
A circle turns without a start or edge,
Electrons hum, the cosmos stirs and wakes.
Though shifting tides govern the starry floor,
All nature rests content in what it is;
Why thence man strains from being to become,
And miss the quiet grace of what he holds?
The world calls forward in march of progress,
Man hungers for the new, yet dreads the shift,
Resisting every turn of time's design.
Instead of marvelling at the passing road,
He counts the miles carved onto the stone,
When true joy moves inward, quiet, uncaused—
A welling spring that needs no earthly rain,
A state of grace that flows without a source.
Instead, man barters peace for tinkered toys
In search of fleeting joys that never last.
The human mind is split by inner stir:
The ego wants to claim the mountain crest,
The heart aches for the valley and the stream
To dip tired feet or walk on cooling grass,
And in this conflict spoils man’s present peace,
Thus losing the pure joy of simply being.
When days are cool he chases summer sun,
When they turn warm, he dreams of winter snow.
A lifetime spent in chasing there from here,
Voyage trapped in dreams of destination.
In reaching there—a phantom on the hill—
He misses quiet joy of travelling on.
The endless war of being to become,
When here and now holds the truth of his life.
And yet, how sad, the road to reaching here—
The quiet place of simply being still—
Gets clear only when the traveller tires,
Weary and worn out from the endless road.
The fruits of labour ripen when they please;
Alas, man muddles blindly through the dark,
Trapped in the space becoming and to be,
A conflict born of heedless head and heart.
______________________________
Reflections |18.07.2026 | creation, god, journey, joy, perfection, Blank Verse
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