Like a rudderless boat,
caught in the rough seas,
life,
goes on floating,
helter-skelter.
Dreams, ambitions, desires,
hopes,
like the rudderless boat,
caught in the rough seas,
go up and down,
the shores never in sight,
no signs of calmness,
forth-coming,
to get anchored,
somewhere,
the rough violent seas,
like the rough and tumble,
of worldly-affairs,
with no signs of,
a saviour in sight.
Whither the Saints,
believed to be holed-up,
in the caves at,
the foot of Himalayas,
whether their minds,
always calm, tranquil, poised?
Is there somebody here,
to force them out of the caves,
and serve for the restless,
souls outside?
Escapism not an answer,
whatever might be the explanations.
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