The Lost Manuscript Of Life Poem by Kenneth Maswabi

It's not washed away in some deserted place
Or hidden under the deep seas
It's not found in old historic libraries
Or stashed in prehistoric cave wall drawings
It's not necessarily a holy book or place
Or a church or a mosque or temple
It's not forever lost in the sand dunes of the Sahara
Or buried deep in the amazon
It's neither an archeological artefact
Nor an ancient monument
It's not displayed in a secret cave
Or hidden on top of the highest mountain
It's is not a book
The lost manuscript of life is a set of trinkets
That houses the most magnificent story
The lost manuscript of life is displayed in our hearts
And sealed with the most secretive seal of Silence
We are the most expensive treasure of life
And we hold the key to eternity
Hidden deep within our hearts
An ocean of Love
A cup of happiness
A bowl of tears
And a vessel of peace
Chapters in the manuscript of life
Fully clothed with the most sacred veil
The lost manuscript of life speaks to us
About our true self
Our nature
And our path
The lost manuscript of life speaks of light
Hope, faith and Love
It is a covenant
A beautiful sacrament
An altar and a sacrifice
The lost manuscript of life is not lost
It is us that are lost
It's our blindness
Standing between us and our true selves
It's our disbelief
Eroding our capacity to see beyond our constructed reality
It's our bloated ego
Holding us back
It's our selfishness
Obstructing our view
It's the millions of attachments and identities
Ensnaring our hearts
It is not too late
To open our eyes
And untangle ourselves
From the thick smog of disbelief
It's not too late
To open the manuscript of life
And be your true self
And be the Love
Love is the lost manuscript of life

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