At the beginning of life, are the crossroads

We’re free to choose, there aren’t any goads

When the mind’s still an infant, we’re asleep

While we struggle to wake, we’re trained like sheep

By the mind and its mischievous ways

Making us chase accolades and praise

At the crossroads, the mind will not let us stay

Forcing us to move, hoping it is the right way

Chance has four directions, one to divinity

The second, walking together as humanity

Then the ways of instinct and darkness

Which give primitive urges free egress

We can return to the crossroad

By dropping the accumulated load

When awakened, we walk the path of no name

The mind can join if it remains simple and tame