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.