By Ananya Iyer
Entangled by own existence,
I have driven myself mad.
Where is peace, my friends?
They tell me to be one with God,
Yet the clergy only recites tales,
About torment and agony.
And here I am,
Tormented by my own existence,
In agony, from my own feelings.
So at times, I stoop to God,
At times I seek refuge in wine.
When oblivious,
I vanish from myself.
When conscious,
I am in anguish.
Where shall one go?
When I look all over me,
I find my own being,
Exposed and hidden.
By Ananya Iyer