Poor Soul Lost Its Way

Poor soul
To find the destiny
Has to stroll
Never born, Never die
Nothing more
One can defy.

Death and birth
On this earth,
Balances only
The Karmic worth.

Allotted bodies
Whenever die,
How another to fix it,
The God to decide.

Soul is moving
Does not seem free,
To end its journey
Finding Thee.

But
The wind seems
Not favorable,
Making its way
Totally Disable.

The cruel hands of destiny
Separates its way.
And enforces the Poor Soul
In this vicious circle
To stay.


~~~~*HARASH MAHAJAN*~~~~