I thought I did the action
Realization of the ego-centric self-consciousness
Percolating from the inner-self -what is the illusion
As if it is done by the cosmic-consciousness
As a blade of grass
Is a divinely painted green lace
In this fictitious race
If the wind blows; His divine grace
My deeds are the reason
For the fructification of the action
The beautiful and ugly result
I think what I have done-and became a revolt
As the chicks come out from the egg-shells
Fructification of past life deeds
And that never ever forbids
Trickles down even from the meditative Yogi, where it dwells
How is the escape from the trap
Mystery of the divine grace; within His grasp
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