By Amon (2025.2.5)
Nature endows man with a clay-carved frame,
Yet man relies on God—
That inconceivable Beyond—
Who breathes into nostrils a wisp of life, tearing through chaos.
The eternal confinement, meant to be,
Screams a piercing wail in an instant.
A life is born, a spark of inspiration blooms—
Chaos suffers the pangs of birth,
Yet nurtures the seed of independent thought.
A man awakens, still unaware,
Already bound by notions of good, evil, and blurred lines—
Ideas, rules, and measures draw circles around him.
Whatever judgment or appraisal
Spoken through another’s lips
Acts like the hand of God,
Shaping him (her),
Unbeknownst,
Ignorant of prejudice, sin, fairness, or justice.
From nothingness to existence—
From one cage into another,
Yet man never ceases to resist.
Even when the conscious stifles the subconscious,
Even when the illusion before him
Grows so vivid it becomes the accepted truth,
The discontent etched in his genes, the unwillingness,
The restless urge to seek the real,
Never stops urging—
Compelling him to act, now, immediately—
To step out of the cave, to halt the meaningless churn within,
To know, to grasp the sun.
Ah, yes,
Once the still lake breaks its silence,
The flowing water cannot be held back—
It will surely swell into a river.
From then on, man refuses stagnation,
Thought knows no bounds,
Consciousness surges forth,
Upward, ever upward.
