Bliss

Ah, in just a sudden dunk of desires
This soul whole lost and mires
What if bewaring of fugacious the desires
Itself ere death, cerebrate higher empires..
Numbered down to naught desires whole lot
Itself ere death means bliss blissful a lot
What if differing human, his animal fought..?
Born a spiritual birth blissful, is it not?
And his bliss is his'I', his 'heart' all true
But in empyrean harmony his senses accrue
Temperamental satiety erstwhile all through
In dissipation his senses but to wake in bliss new

poem by Indira Renganathan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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