A child has a belief in the purity of the heart,
As he grows, he meets people very smart,
He becomes sceptical,
A bit practical.
The belief in purity weakens,
He more clearly sees fear that frightens,
Trust becomes more distant,
He craves something instant.
Instant pleasures one after the other,
Make him worse than ever,
The inner hollowness grows stronger,
He needs some pretension to cover.
Pretensions look more real than reality,
Life passes quickly,
The inner hollowness becomes quite apparent,
A life well spent.
A not-so-practical person sees something illogical,
He tries to solve the puzzle,
He reads wide literature,
Tries to connect the dots to understand nature.
Nothing makes much sense,
What we know looks like non-sense,
He tries meditation,
That creates more confusion.
The difference between reality and imagination looks blur,
It's too much of a task for the brain, which is so linear,
Leaving control is beyond our contemplation,
Meditation is therefore nothing more than mental speculation.
Smart and not-so-smart both play their mental game,
To navigate the world that looks insane,
We can't experience its sanity,
Unless we are empty.
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