Ode to Yove - V

Ha ha ha ha! Make me mad after it please! I want to be insane. Think me mad of human race! Please treat me as mad and banish me from your memories! I would love to be known as mad. What ego then? What attachment? What ego now? Of what can I pride. I am like a beggar entreating, asking for yove for all that I seem to possess is of no value except that it might help me survive physically. But the mind? It writhes of hunger and insatisfaction. It feels that huge void. I feel like a slave of my own temptations and desires, of pain and pleasure, of repute and disrepute. What greatness can slaves possess? What is there to pride?

How insane can somebody be? I want to be that. Strange desire, it is, to be called mad. But ultimate pleasure, it is, to be rejected and nondescript when you know you have all that you need and want nothing more and want nothing at all. Your yove shall do the magic and I wait eagerly. Wait with patience and let things happen for I know what must happen, must happen. And I know that yove must happen too.

Where is now that fear, the dreaded fear, that plagued me for time immemorial? Where does it now reside, when it has been rooted up from my mind? I have been extricated. For I have accepted all happenings, all sorrows and all joyless joys. All due to the very simple yove.

All music is noise without your touch in the mind, every note sounds so profound with your taste. And that sweet music exponentiates the want even more, how so very sweet. My ears want to hear no more than you and eyes want to see nothing except you. Oh these profane senses, they know all except you, they feel all except your yove. These nugatory senses are unwanted if they ask for anything except you.

Yove breeds compassion and forgiveness. Forbearance too. Practicing them is golden. Yove breeds insouciance and I yove it. Yove subdues are restlessness and peace prevails. Yove destroys impurities that act as inhibitors to the process of yoving more. Yove engenders equanimity and boosts candor. Yove brings honesty. Yove is the bracelet I want to wear, jewels do not impress me. Pure, unadulterated yove.

People live on their lives, people like me, without yove, crying, in torment. And I want to break free and get entangled in your yove. Otherwise I shall go on living in the living hell with no hope of recovery. I want to get out of the question and live in the answer.