108 times my fingers travel moving along;
108 times I chant a phrase, with melody, a song;
108 times flowing in cadence with my breath;
Ironic how the only word that rhymes is death.
The touch on a bead evokes a certain calm,
Entrancing like magic as the wind sways the palm;
The touch on a bead emits a moment of sedation,
Eluding in existence, life’s infinite seduction.
My heart takes the journey within this ring of halo
Each bead is my struggle of things I can not let go;
108 trials, 108 efforts, and perhaps there are more
Sitting pensively, my heart whispers, “You need not keep score”.
It is the space in between the beads where I find relief
A tinge of comfort, a glimpse of ease, however brief;
In this life we have it is where you will come to find
Through the space we create lays the peace of mind.