The world has its ways, In the manner it tends to behave. Lasting for ever does not stay, Since the parts of you can stray.
How you see the self is the answer here, The world lies inside or out has to be clear. The search for wholeness never gets a stop, Unless you find what you’re capable of.
Striking with the courage, You deal with the reality. Yet the realm of perceptions, May vandalise with anticipations.
The voice of self is hitherto around, Because the soul knows no bounds. Being born is a process of infinite recursion, Open the eyes wide and sense your succession.
The power has bestowed now, The light with the night is nowed. So the glimpses of fear will fade, And memories of haven will stay.
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