It is a cycle — sukh then dukh,
Sweetness fades, then comes the hook.
Pleasure’s rise, then sorrow’s sting,
The mind chained tight to everything.
But this wheel, it spins by false command,
A play of shadows on shifting sand.
Escape the loop, the pull, the high —
And watch the Self begin to fly.
No joy, no pain can truly stay,
Unless we choose to cling that way.
But past the game, beyond the lie,
Ambrosial sukh begins to rise.
Not of flesh, not born of need,
But nectar found when the soul is freed.
Where silence sings and fire is cool —
Escape the cycle. Return to the Jewel.
