Incessant

Incessant that’s what it’s become,

For anything one does,

If it isn’t incessant,

Is it even done at all.

For incessant depicts a nature,

How things ought to be,

Yet many question saying:

If ought can really be derived from an is.

For Hume may have been right of course,

For all too many are postmodern today,

Isn’t that all so easy- postmodernism that is,

As the incessant is not present I say.

Incessant is passion,

It is suffering,

It is the urge,

That drives all of us to the transcendent.

The transcendent,

Does that at all exist,

For aren’t we all just meat and bones,

No, I say.

As for even manner,

Is in the realm of aiming,

Is it not,

For otherwise why make comparisons at all.

So stop with the bickering,

And aim,

Aim at the highest good,

For there is nothing else that is worth your while.

Call it or him,

Rama or Krishna or Buddha,

Allah or Jesus,

For the incessant need to match is there in us all.

And that makes us human after all,

For he is a fool,

He who has failed,

Failed to be one with God and Ramakrishna Paramahamsa agrees.

Yet we won’t try,

Try to salvage ourselves,

From the ravages of sin,

For few truly understand walking the path of virtue that is.