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Birth is not about high and low

It’s a sacred entrance and a level plateau

Where the engine of the mind turns on

Bringing the dangers of a perpetual spawn

Birth may become death in disguise

When awareness fails to button up and rise

It cannot happen until desires dry

With desires, we walk or run and cannot fly

Birth is the seed of existence

Of which we’re a temporary happenstance

Time’s an asset not worth a squander

It never returns as we travel yonder

Birth is real when we finally arrive

At the door of the moment, we come alive

Through birth in which death’s left far behind

Along with the swirling winds of the mind

Originally published at

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