339 – Meditating

Cristal tears
Tinkling melodiously
As they shatter against
The frozen walk of prayers.

A blind, homeless guru
Hoarsely chants the gutter sutras
Between deep swigs
From a grimy whiskey flask.

Salvation, rapture,
Nirvana, enlightenment,
Words flashing in bright neon
Over mantra karaoke bars.

Angelic pimps
With carefully groomed feathers,
Offering your wildest dreams
Or darkest nightmares,
For a significant donation.

Too many sounds,
Too many faces,
Too much noise,
Too little signal.

You shut down
Your tired senses for a while,
And wonder from behind
Your mirrored lenses.

So much wasted energy,
Such a frantic effort,
So many golem roaming freely
Fueled by greed and ego.

What for?

It’s never been exactly
A hidden mystery.

It’s all here.

It’s all now.

It’s just your own face
In the mirror
Coldly telling you
The truth.

No, it’s never been a mystery…

Just too painful
To face.