The Journey Within

Look Within When sorrow struck his mighty heart, And made his bow and will depart, Arjuna stood in battle’s haze, With teary eyes and clouded gaze. He spoke of love, of kin and peace, Of how all war and wrath should cease. His words were noble, deep, profound— Yet feet of truth must touch the ground. Lord Krishna smiled, then sternly spoke, A jolt that through illusion broke. No soothing words, no soft embrace, But truth delivered face to face. “O warrior, where’s this grief from born? Is death so strange it makes you mourn? These bodies fall, the soul lives on, Like dusk must yield to rising dawn.” It seemed unkind, a harsh rebuke, A friend turned guide, now strict and stoic. But deeper still, the lesson lay— To turn his sight the inward way. For when we search the world outside, Our inner voice we tend to hide. We seek in crowds what dwells alone— The whisper of our truest tone. Arjuna’s thoughts, though draped in gold, Were not yet pure, were not yet bold. To tru...

The One Who Asked On Kurukshetra’s fateful ground,  where war cries filled the air, Where steel and silence both were crowned,  and fate was laid out bare, The warriors stood with hearts of flame,  with vengeance in their breath— Each eager for eternal fame,  and unafraid of death. Their banners soared, their chariots rolled,  their bows were drawn and tight, Each eye was set on wealth or pride,  each mind prepared to fight. Yet in that storm of wrath and roar,  one soul began to sway— A prince who saw what lay in store,  and slowly turned away. He saw not foes but fathers there,  not rivals—but his own, And felt a grief too sharp to bear,  that pierced him to the bone. “Why must we kill?” he softly cried,  “What honor lies in pain? I’d trade the earth and all its pride,  for peace that might remain.” His fingers slipped, his bow fell low,  his knees sank to the floor, While all around him longed for war —he sought a deepe...