Do you too feel the special stillness of a Sunday morning ?
Have you wondered too why each day was not like this ?
I don't grudge people their need for action and working ..
I find myself thinking though, what's the point of it all !
And as they lie in bed, slumbering, a pity comes over me;
as though they're like so many sheep.
What is it they hope to find by their strenuous endeavors ?
When they themselves will not be there,
whose comfort, for whose short-lived enjoyment do they work so hard ?
I would turn instead to beauty. To art and artistic things.
To feelings and expressing. But I confess,
that joy too is a momentary thing.
Yet it makes more sense to me than the other.
For these kind too came into my life,
driven by greed and insecurity.
Asked me if I could do for them
what they could not themselves do,
and then they had no more need for me.
But this is not about me.
Perhaps you wonder, is beauty a thing from your past and childhood?
Something you can scant feel now, and even less express.
I would not know what to answer if you asked;
but here is what I would try:
An objective thing it is, beauty, as something really there.
If you have the eyes to see it;
and a tranquility in your mind,
then it would come to you.
You see it in the morning light,
in the early sun of february.
You see it in the hanging mist,
a white-ish blueness floating in the air.
You hear it in the sounds of birds,
and in chimes from far off temple bells.
You'll see it in a sculpture,
if there's one near where you live.
In the design of tables and chairs,
in the coffee place near you.
You'll see it in the faces of smiling girls who there greet you.
But enough ! Have you wondered about life today ?
Have you asked yourself, am I for beauty, or this meaningless-ness.
Thank you.
Have you wondered too why each day was not like this ?
I don't grudge people their need for action and working ..
I find myself thinking though, what's the point of it all !
And as they lie in bed, slumbering, a pity comes over me;
as though they're like so many sheep.
What is it they hope to find by their strenuous endeavors ?
When they themselves will not be there,
whose comfort, for whose short-lived enjoyment do they work so hard ?
I would turn instead to beauty. To art and artistic things.
To feelings and expressing. But I confess,
that joy too is a momentary thing.
Yet it makes more sense to me than the other.
For these kind too came into my life,
driven by greed and insecurity.
Asked me if I could do for them
what they could not themselves do,
and then they had no more need for me.
But this is not about me.
Perhaps you wonder, is beauty a thing from your past and childhood?
Something you can scant feel now, and even less express.
I would not know what to answer if you asked;
but here is what I would try:
An objective thing it is, beauty, as something really there.
If you have the eyes to see it;
and a tranquility in your mind,
then it would come to you.
You see it in the morning light,
in the early sun of february.
You see it in the hanging mist,
a white-ish blueness floating in the air.
You hear it in the sounds of birds,
and in chimes from far off temple bells.
You'll see it in a sculpture,
if there's one near where you live.
In the design of tables and chairs,
in the coffee place near you.
You'll see it in the faces of smiling girls who there greet you.
But enough ! Have you wondered about life today ?
Have you asked yourself, am I for beauty, or this meaningless-ness.
Thank you.