Earthly creation all we
here,
Be it man or those selfless
fish,
Isn’t soil same that we all
share?
Why then be trapped to thorny
dish
Born man, borne hearts with
greed- so coarse,
Own thus those poor lives
and rise up high,
Whipping senile mother
horse,
Despite tears from their
bleeding thigh
Roadside alas with shrunken
sheath,
Thus they hobble with
lifeless bend,
Away from home, across
heath,
Craving hard for peaceful
end
Poor cow though with her
nibbling calf,
Yet we own full, her sibling’s
milk,
But when life passed more
than half,
Thence no man to weave her
silk!
Hearing not, praise for
selfless gifts,
They flash past with
rivulets of sheds,
“Non mine ones to see by day,
Or
to serve by my death bed”
Until deep some creepy worms
say-
Lives
you earned alike, so here you repay
That is all called Samsara,
Mighty rope to sail us round
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