KARMA
Swimming in the sands of pointless action,
Measuring the hours
Minute by minute,
Wondering
If Time shall allow me
An audience with Our Creator.
My friend,
Maybe I am mistaken –
Maybe time is a folly
As the traveler on the Way.
Maybe all we have is a glittering highway
And no one on it –
Breaking through
These deserts of juicy grapes,
And moving beyond the ripe-green
Fields
Of sustaining rice – that awaits appointment,
As an offering to Him
Who Conceived this and All.