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We are born as deflated balloon
The art of ego inflation we learn soon
When left on our own
Knowing not if it’s a boon
We practice it be it month of May or June
Accordingly our lives we tune
For praise we our lives attune
To, advices against it we are immune
We dwell& swell in our cocoon!
WE may seem a loon
We strive to reach the Moon
Do it Night, Morning & Noon
Our strings we don’t shear or prune
For flight our desires we strewn
Air of ego we fill to the bloom
Till there is no room
Swelled up we roam
Want to touch the sky’s dome
Demand for us we feel is at a boom
There is no gloom
Cover we weave on our Loom
Strings none can cut they are of Lanthanum
So no tangles, to comb
Upwards we fly as if consumed Laudanum
Ourselves we seldom sit & groom
Pay no attention to our ultimate home
There is nothing ahead but doom
So don’t inflate your ego till the tomb.
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