On The Path Of Truth
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__On the path of truth __
__________________________
It was deceiving to find a way,
and deceiving too, to seek and search.
The door was locked by effort and
I was homeless inside the home.
The rain that drenched me with thunderbolts
Was a knock on the door of my house.
No door was there and the Knocking was rambling away from me.
The superficial bondage of knowledge left no
Empty space to grow to certainty.
Nothing to find is the point to have it,
A Buddha is not worshipped by a Buddha,
Beyond the mind is the door with no portal
To enter.
The door is the home and the knocker,
But the light from the world outside did make it dark and darker with borrowed stillness of
Of the seeker.
The false covered with honeyed shower of
Poetic pleasure upholds not the pathless path to find 'Nothing to find.'
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