Articles

  Where has passion ever grown? Where stream of tears hasn't flown. Where has desire ever sown? Where acquiescence was condoned. Where have I ever burned? Without pathetic angst and wild rapture. True love burns in passion, That gives rise to creation. True devotion douses in dispassion, That which leads to dissolution. How unworldly it is to be serene? How rarely is the womb of existence seen? In this world, our prime essence is in suffering, For love, for passion, for desire and for creation. Bliss is an illusion of the day, And my essence is as nameless as the unmoving ether. The material world is ephemeral, Serenity with impassivity is alone eternal.