Why make such a noise
When silence is your very soul
Why bondage to sweet sounds
When liberation is the only goal?
Why look for beauty in the face
Or in some piece of fine art
When true beauty is that of love
The love that is your very heart?
Why look for happiness in things
Which your hands or brain create
When it eternally dwells within
Which nothing can mar or make?
Why hate anyone or anything
That is not to our taste
Why the little energy we have
In anger and frowns waste?
Why should we cry so hoarse
Against the immorality of the times
When we generously forgive
Hundreds of our own crimes?
Why such pride of knowledge
Which leads but to confusion
And an endless chattering
Without any rhyme or reason?