The Meditating Owls

We have no time for you, my dear, the princess, We have left you in rags, but you have a billion smiling faces, Out of the emptied hearts, that beep for love traces, The river of love flow opposite to be wasted, The talents are dwarfed to be contented and boasted, The distant Sun may roast your body to be pieces, The nearest moon may balm your young night muscles, The wise may sit on the top of the hills and mountains, To elaborate the meaning for many commandments, While the sacrificial human are resting for their turns,, The wombs of the affluent are barren, but have hot spring, The tombs of the weak and the meek are flattened, Million years have passed, but our emancipation at Himalayas, Where the word ends and the Gods are living in cold, Meditating with their eyes closed, though the girls are around, Ecstatic are their hearts with no pushing and pulling sound, The distant is short, but we presume it to be the farthest, Clouded are not our eyes, shrouded are not our hearts, Pampered are not our feelings, determined are our illusions, Pretense is our companion and the preference is our opponent, We blow as the wind with no planning blue print and implementation, We rest as the owls, keeping our eyes closed, but awake for miracles.