Now in the silence of my spirit's cell I watch the endless thought-streams come and go, The vexing past holds me in its spell, How little I have learned, how little know.
Beset by sorrow from the depths I cry, I cannot move, the pain does not subside And the wells of inspiration have run dry. Beleaguered and oppressed I cannot hide
In some nirvanic otherworld of calm Or blindly in extinction's arms find peace. I look to no religion for the balm That causes sin and suffering to cease,
Until the Presence in the heart is found This life will be the soul's battleground.
Poems Undated (1727)
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Narad
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