Instinct is diminutive, desire is thin
The chalice of the soul has gold for kin
A sparrow and peacock, in beauty, are equal
The pauper and prince are both ordinary bricks in the wall
Hunger is no more than leftovers on the table
has spirit’s horse running loose from the stable
The curfew on self is because of humanity’s Babel
Not much ado over ego’s jar with a label
I can break a pen before the contract is signed
Intuition always helps me read between the lines
It keeps confronting me, the evil design
A new bottle, to me, is simply old wine
Though I am vulnerable, I’m never scared
It is the garden of conviction for which I cared
Thus, the flowers bloom and bushes are pared
God is witness to how I dared and fared
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