Om Money

On my deathbed I lay,

The sculptor of my life,

I had stood in the way of nature,

To pump up my pile.

My attitudes I grew,

Looting from day to day,

My mantra was ‘Om Money’,

Stabbing everyone in my way.

I strutted on the knife’s edge,

Misused the scriptural sayings,

My attachment caused bondage,

Which withdrew my internal savings.

I had looked for a guru,

To give me some guiding,

What good is a guru?

My ego started boasting.

Could I light up my money,

To brighten the corridor,

That runs after death,

To the other shore.

Though highly evolved technologically,

I missed the resources within,

I’m rich in inner poverty,

Yamantaka has begun to grin.

Posted in: no mud no lotus