Confused it seems, in vain all efforts
yet one must get over blankness
it'll stay arid and parched
if not watered and nurtured.
Mind is devil's barn, idle or ticking
it makes gods & satans out of nothing
'cause we wanna something,
everthing n nothing too same time,
that dear is creation of time.
Perception, Maya seems devoid
but like blackhole therein lies hope
ours is to strive and struggle
through something and everything we choose
till pulled back to vortex of nothingness
Thank yourself in this era of choice