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Lost

The world keeps going yet one may find oneself stuck in a constant state of numb hopelessness.

The world keeps going, years pass, yet one may find oneself stuck in a constant state of numb hopelessness. Once you walk on the path of Sikhi, it is anything but a straight and obvious road. One must battle one’s inner evil daily. Lose focus for a second and you will stagger off.

Complete letting go of self — total surrender to Guru Ji — cannot be escaped. Yet, we try. We try to employ clever trickery and even outright delusional facades. None of it works. One finds oneself giving in to lust, anger, pride, attachment and egotistical ways. The whole circle of making progress and then falling back again is mentally taxing. It sucks the soul’s essence and leaves numbness in its wake.

I wrote this poem to depict the condition of one at such times. It attempts to explore just what understanding needs to take place.

Lost

Sunshine is unheard of
Half moons at best
Stars are reduced to rusty, grimy rocks

Foggy and
plague infected
The world is black.

Branches rustle
Leaves crunch
Desperate screams echo

A petite little girl
With pigtails
Is lost.

“Baba Ji”

Horrid looking
yet freshly inflicted
The gash on her chest

Veering to the left she disappears,
Temporary pleasures
heat and starry skies.

Venturing out of a thicket of branches,
She crawls right.
A hundred thousand voices at once speak.

Stumbling back out
Her left ear bleeds
Blood seeping down her side

Once upon a time, the hosts of passion.
Her eyes are lost.
One is saffron,
The other black.

The sharp tongue
Honed for outsmarting even the elite
Sits heavy and numb
A cold flame

Her lovely button nose,
An epitome of beauty.
Broken and bashed
It now underscores her ugliness.

The sweet little girl
Her heart outflowing with compassion
Reduced to an illusion of nightmares

Walking aimlessly,
She ponders her destination.
Oh! The very thought of grace,
Baba Nanak’s ever-ready embrace.

“I will learn.
I will fight.
I will make it.
I’m trying.
Don’t give up on me.”

Server of bliss, the third Nanak,
Then quietly guides,
“ਭਗਤਾ ਕੀ ਚਾਲ ਨਿਰਾਲੀ ॥
ਚਾਲਾ ਨਿਰਾਲੀ ਭਗਤਾਹ ਕੇਰੀ ਬਿਖਮ ਮਾਰਗਿ ਚਲਣਾ ॥
ਲਬੁ ਲੋਭੁ ਅਹੰਕਾਰੁ ਤਜਿ ਤ੍ਰਿਸਨਾ ਬਹੁਤੁ ਨਾਹੀ ਬੋਲਣਾ ॥
ਖੰਨਿਅਹੁ ਤਿਖੀ ਵਾਲਹੁ ਨਿਕੀ ਏਤੁ ਮਾਰਗਿ ਜਾਣਾ ॥

“Tread carefully the path
For it is sharper than a doubled edged sword
And thinner than a hair’s breadth
With the true Creator’s grace
other worldly vices shall abandon thee”

Light and determined
Her steps no longer sway
ੴ - her route is clear

Tiny flowers bloom
Rays of red trickle in
The sky not so overcast

But the promises she made in the womb,
She now must keep.
She has miles to go before she sleeps.
Miles to go before she sleeps, tucked in with loving Nanak’s dreams.

 

Photo credit: Copyright: highwaystarz / 123RF Stock Photo

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