SCHEMING

BABA, I’m always scheming to make an end-run
Around that devil Maya, and all she’s ever done—

Like keeping me a pathetic separate self,
A King’s Son who’s deluded that he’s some lowly elf.

Ever since Your Grace first woke me from my sleep,
My mind’s hatched schemes so that divine state I could keep.

Then I could be of real service to You!
Then I could do what was needed to do!

None of the schemes has succeeded so far.
I seem to hitch wagons to some light-years-away star.

Each time I get thrown back into the muddle of daily living,
Where You always say the same thing: “Be patient, keep giving.”

But Maya, that bitch, never gives up either!
Days resemble a football scrimmage, more than a breather.

I’m nursing a new scheme now, to pole-vault straight to You.
It has me inspired (which at least is something), whatever may finally accrue.