School Me Better

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School Me Better

Poem — An Invocation to the Master #302

Deep is turn of the grain
Paced by momentums not entirely known,
Hence our wills come up vain
To herd course of lives though our own.

Like a puppeteer blind we move 
Unseen props by fickle intent,
But ourselves are set in nature’s groove
For aims we can hardly intuit.

A trail of forces each uniquely blind
Following and berating others and self,
What issue can any resolution find
When just to be is travail enough!

Why dost Thou then plant so high
Victory’s flag we can hardly gaze at,
Even at foothills we falter and sigh
And by a sullen fire raise our lament.

Couldst Thou not school me better
In a better age or a better earth
Where a luminosity doth tutor
In ways of joy for human birth?

Hear O Thou who the worm’s plight can see,
Know no less grievous is the plight of me.