Karma

She lurks behind
the curtain of your mind,
silently observing
with endless patience,
every thought, action, and desire,
throwing seeds for you to grind,
bending shapes
for your transient path to wind,
with no judgemental force
does she curve it,
and with no restraint or ease
does she sow the seeds,
she is the quill in your hand,
jotting down on Life’s paper,
those relearnt deeds,
good or worse than bad,
she is there behind the curtain,
a playwright writing plays,
the plot of which
only you are certain,
cast before future days,
and when at last
your show of lives is over,
when the quill does ink not need,
then the curtain may be drawn,
to reveal your flower has no thorn,
for you to wake,
you need no dawn,
and she then takes your hand,
that shadow with no face,
to reveal that you need no time,
nor need you a place,
for with the drawing of your curtain,
she lifts the curse
of our human race.

(WS, 2007)