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East of Liberty
Of all wonders I have seen,
Would be the naked truth,
Of endless ranges of mountains green,
Cleared for the profit of wood.
And lives lost of creatures large and small,
And species that will not return,
I can only cry the simple call,
When will we ever learn?
The progressive march of social life,
Will ne’er let us be,
Free from the samsara’s strife,
To give us liberty.
But a vision that fills the soul,
Or a voice that wakes the dead,
Maybe the answer to behold,
And to listen to what is said.
A mind may think and disagree,
A river may be dammed,
But it is not so much to fly free,
But where it is we land.
For the moksha of a troubled heart,
And the dharma of our truth,
Be the breath that we simply start,
And the death of endless proof.
