On our stream of consciousness,

There is a babbling voice;

We identify it with our Selves,

To guide us in our choice.


The ego may have its place,

In worldly type affairs;

But it really is illusion,

That makes us think its there.


By its very nature,

It makes us all grow vain;

Inflates us with self conceit,

And puts our hearts in pain.


What is it about this voice,

That we would call it ''I" ?

It gets depressed when we're saddened,

And happy when we're high.


It is really a bunch of thoughts,

Joined in such a way;

The critic of our psyche,

Who always has its say.


We must settle this disturbance,

If we hope to live in bliss;

When Peace is found within the quiet,

The ego won't be missed.


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