When things don’t happen the way
You want them to move
Ego, sitting on his throne,
hurls the stone
And spreads The ripples of hurt
Anger surges from the womb of expectation
The entire image of the world underneath
Quakes, shivers, loses boundaries
Anger is weakness. Anger is unworthy of a man
It simmers, flattens, compressed and unexpressed, fossilized
At some innocuous pinhole, violence clouds the sky.
Ego is god’s perfect work,
And so it crowns by default
The epicenter of the galaxy
becomes the octopus that spits
ferocious ink on fragrant advice.
It knows all, except itself
That its the grain of sand
On the beaches of universe.
No pestle can crush the seed of anger
No axe can cut down the tree of violence,
So long the soil of Ego
is wet and alive.
To vanquish your anguish
Vanquish your Ego.