Meandering through a psychedelic maze
with actions, words and thoughts all in a haze
i try to cling on to a bubble so transient
which crumbles anyway even as time is resilient
“It isn't my thing” my mind sneers
“who cares”, my heart says amidst jeers...
the sun sets and the moon rises,
the moon sets and the sun rises....
who cares, who cares, it is all a Mirage in a mystic Pace
You judge and you are judged,
You try and you are tried,
Voices far away making no sense in its pretence
does it matter ? this wasteful banter?
Who cares? Who cares? It is all a mirage in a mystic pace
I realise I am breathing and yes, it is real,
I clutch this very moment and yes, it is real,
I free myself from the past and future somehow,
I then realize the real power of NOW...
But who cares, who cares, we are all planning for a psychedelic future....
