Dark Night of the Wounded Soul
Slogging haplessly
Meandering ceaselessly
Over arid lands
Moving along
Hitherto, and beyond
Lips are parched
Anticipating a little drop
An ounce of wisdom
That has been veiled
Of the false seers
Scantily clad
In ominous craving
Of the substances of this world
Creating a Maya
Of grandeur and affluence
Oblivious to the call
Of the soul
Left in the dark
To grope
For a glimmer of light
Beckoning from a distance
Lost in the vastness
Of the desolate place
At times tripping,
sometimes staggering
blinded by the glare
overshadowed by the impression
thinking, all that glitters
are gold
Hoodwinked at assuming
those things gazed upon
are real
up to the end
so far removed
still lost
fumbling, yearning…