Classic Poem

O Mind, how camest thou thus demented?
In craft and guile, O fool, thou dealest: and grief thou reckonest as joy.
To destroy this birth lurk lust, illusion; into their hands thou hast sold thyself.
Thy mouth proclaiming " Duty, Duty, " thine acts thine own self will dictates.
The Lord who knows the hearts of all things, to Him thou didst make excuse.
From Him of the road thou askest, who himself is all astray.
If following this mind one journeys, can he trace out the abode of bliss?
He who knows the Giver of happiness, O Pratap, is wise beyond all.