Letters from an Empty Cell

Other people's disapproval,
The care we love to disavow,
Is all that motivates our selves
To behave as if behavior

Ever mattered. I don't believe
I've ever met a devotee
Of a faux-disinterested faith,
Of whatever earnest intent,

However hard-earned, who didn't
Covet one or someone's divine
Intervention for inventions
Of moral conventions. Not me.

Oh heavens, not me. In the caves
Of Nasik, the symbol of ten
Of the monks was written weirdly,
As if to suggest that nothing

Existed in the abacus
Of the divine, of the no self,
Of the simplest arithmetic.
I wonder what my fellow monks

Would say about my heresy
If they discovered I'm averse
To revelations? Mercy me.
I'd better begin to behave.