The myth

If unhappiness could be turned into a myth

The mind would no longer remain a kith

Until then it carves out inner divides

Controlling us through emotional tides

Thoughts cannot live without our light

Whether shaded pale or bright

Honest as the sweetness of sugar

Indulge, and it stiffens us with logical rigor

Thoughts crisscross the mind like a laser maze

We cannot escape, they cover our every gaze

Making us bend to the punishing gravity of belief

Tying us to myths of penury and grief

To the mind we wholeheartedly relent

The soul watches, without collecting any rent

When the fiction of unhappiness is quarantined

The dependence on the mind can be fully weaned