479 Nothing

A contemplative poem thanks to my uncle Chalam

Over eagerness to change the world is a new affliction.
It stains everything and to this, God gives no sanction.
Sometimes the trick to living lies in realising we're nothing,
Like Don Shimoda was taught, the world would go on without expecting

Anything from him for in the grand march of humanity,
Even without the prophets and superheroes, Nature would maintain her sanity.
She knows what's best and we intellectuals only interfere with others,
Not knowing what's good for them, how to keep afire their embers.

Dear uncle mine, thanks for helping shred my overinflated ego.
I had the gall to think I could change the world with a whispered "go"
And win your dreams kiddos, but if wishes were horses
Then beggars would ride. Now I'm getting out of the rut, but disheartened no more.

We can indeed change the world but it cannot be mass produced.
This stupid tech world will tell us how scale can be seduced,
And have us forget that nature only works through the randomness with verve
As a cloud feels to move this way or that, steadily moving, sometimes doing a swerve.

This ego is a deadly poison that afflicts all great and small.
Gladdened am I to be starting afresh, dreaming of one day standing tall.
And stand with the best as that Jukebox Hero did decades ago.
Now time to compare myself to dirt, totally foregoing the ego!