Mother of all worlds ! What use to force Thy thoughts ?
A foolish thought indeed ! All-knowing One ! Time's meed
You give-- not more or less -- we ignorantly plead
Forgetful of this truth ; our fate is already wrought
None can ingeniously escape from his lot ;
You smile, I know, Thou, blessed fount of glee !
You know our ultimate ends and we like feeble reeds
Move to and fro in winds of anxiety caught.
Ignorant of our goals of where we end
We strive to strike new ways to alter and mend
Our ways, though we do know -- beyond our hands
How selfish people seem ! In spite of burning sands
We dream of rich harvests to suit our greedy taste
Craving beyond what we deserve, our peculiar state.
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5th November, 2016 Somaseshu Gutala