Truth

A flower blossomed,
the rarest of yellow
Bringing a rare
Euphoria to my heart

But then it shriveled
and brought tears to eyes
It caused as much pain
As it had once given pleasure

So on many seasons passed
Flowers would come and go
Bringing joy but always
Followed by sadness

And then neither joy
nor sorrow could satisfy,
Could quench that
Insatiable desire

The desire grew to break free
of these bonds of experiences
Is there something? An existence
beyond these transitory mirages

Is not there something stable
That which always exists
The immovable platform
As trains come and go
The unshakable mountain
Even as rivers alter their courses

That which has existence
Beyond this impermanence
Where It is all One and
there are no deluding opposites

Who is He, the Knower of all
Who is He, the Cause of everything
What is That of which all this is made of
The Consciousness there at all times
When we sleep, dream or are awake

Who is He who observes everything
The Witness of all actions, the Ultimate Subject
The Changeless, Eternal, Immovable, Indeterminate
The Unknowable yet who knows all
Who is still, yet everywhere
Who permeates, Who Is
The Truth