Is It, Or Is It Not?

To be sane here maybe the only way

Is to see all things as just Your play,

So that all happenings that occur,

Things as ‘good’ or ‘bad’ we refer,

And all actions people seem to do,

Are actually done by none but You,

With You manifesting as every form,

Through them myriad roles to perform,

And while separate doers they appear,

It’s all just a grand delusion mere,

Arranged by You to be this way,

For the sake of Your cosmic play,

Wherein, the truth is that, in fact,

You who are the only one to act,

All part of the great drama You stage,

From aeon to aeon, from age to age,

This play of Yours with no beginning,

And showing no sign of any ending,

Going on and on and never to cease,

You performing it Yourself to please.

If what I say here is false, not true,

That all forms there are, are just You,

And that in this world, every deed

Is done by none but You indeed,

Then from here please take me away,

No longer do I wish here to stay.

If I’m wrong, and this isn’t Your play,

I might be impelled to You then say:

“From this madhouse, grant me release,

And take me back to You now, please.”