The transformation of humanity
Is not so hard or long:
Mother starts it at the soul’s birth.
“Ma, Ma,” the soul cries out at the
first breath-inducing birth-smack.
“Mother, may I,” It asks as
“Mother, I’m leaving,” it says with the
adventurousness of youth.
“I am for myself alone,” the young adult
“Ma, you are my Golden All” comes last, in the
full, ripe wisdom-maturity of age.
Reality points its finger and spins the wheel,
Again and again.
When the lessons are blended
The wheel stops.