Prophets were the replica Of the cessation caused by grass What if everytime God needed the theory to be felt A surmise to be dealt He created weed as them That you and me see In all those church in gowns In the mosque with crowns And with a postulate of Shiva holding the life And then making death an other world a beginning of new zone for time May be nothing needed a contention of humanly brain Or it did!
The art of holding Destiny in palm - was a mark - pathway to eternity after the milky way would engulf each soul in dark
What if all these questions are wrong?.
Each was felt And with each puff There were discoveries in my brain of hidden mark And i realise I have felt this before May be in temple While holding question of who are you to idol When it was to be discovered within me
The satire to art is I have hunch While holding the grass And again asking My hashish What if moksha is Nirvana And Nirvana is finding true theories Or may be i am just high trying to prove my unmindful stories
What if Prophets were replica To grass
Tomorrow morning I'll ask again the same question knowing that the only wrong thing is where i am searching answers for
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