Spell Of "I Choose"

 

We speak of "I" with pride and grace,
As if we steer the human race.
But stitched within that little sound,
A ghost appears—so tightly bound.

 

"I choose," we say, as though we know
From where our inner longings grow.
But that belief—our grand deceit—
Is where the roots of evil meet.

 

For once we buy this fabled thread,
Of choice as something we have bred,
We summon “right,” conjure the “wrong,”
And judgment tags right along.

 

Without “I choose,” the game unwinds,
And leaves a peace no judgment finds.
No need to prove, no role to play—
And life unfolds in its own way.

 

We make a god from cause and claim,
And dress it up with guilt and shame.
Yet ego’s throne is built on air—
A trick of speech, not truth laid bare.

 

Like saying “cities heal the poor,”
When countless hands had held the door.
So too the self, a verbal glide—
A mask we wear with judgment’s pride.

 

And from this myth, we sell and trade
Approval’s gold and blame’s cascade.
But righteousness is just a show—
A marketplace that needs no “go.”

 

Without “I choose,” the game unwinds,
And leaves a peace no judgment finds.
No need to prove, no role to play—
And life unfolds in its own way.

 

No hero stands to take the fall,
No villain made to shame us all.
Just patterns played and stories spun—
No single thread that pulls the sun.

 

So let us free this tangled muse,
And question deep the phrase “I choose.”
For when that veil begins to fall,
We taste the freedom in it all.

 

Without “I choose,” the game unwinds,
And leaves a peace no judgment finds.
No need to prove, no role to play—
Just life unfolding its own way.