Of Existence and Metempsychosis

July 31, 2012 3:40pm CST
I Once, I sang a good old song; Sang only under a certain tree, Such a tree that grows tall and strong, I was aged only two or three. It was a gift from mother earth: A tree of life and happiness And I suppose of health and wealth. On it, one fruit and many leaves. Well, I sang the song of my heart, With tears to melt a rock And a drop to rip the earth apart. II Then lightening and thunder struck And earth came shaking Bringing everything to a stop. First, the leaves started falling Leaving only the fruit atop Glowing in all it's beauties; A mystic shape it has, Ripened and good for the eyes, Not affected by weather or years. Suddenly a snake appeared And frightened death out of me. I tried to move back, but behind, Like a vision, I saw an image! There were no flaming fire And the snake was mute. III As I made to retire, I heard a voice serene and remote Like a lullaby to my tender ears. I felt a drowsiness in my bowl As the voice echoes: "I am that dreadful owl" "I'm the lovely human" I said "I know who you are" With a scornful laugh it said, "And I know why you are here." "I want to pluck..." "Human please save your breath, Today you are out of luck. Know this: in every beauty lies death. The fruit you seek is for immortals. Your very nature is evil and wicked And the Gods regretted ever creating mortals In whom their pleasure also depend." IV I felt like a forgotten fugitive, Knelt and cried for my soul, For this cursed life man live, And nothingness that is perpetual. Suddenly there was a mighty water rolling From the east and swept me onshore. I saw the dead also swimming Upon the immortal sea evermore, But none I conversed with Seemed to ever recollect or remember The things of the earth: birth and death, Or the houses they used to enter (Or love and pain they used to suffer). Oh, that death is like sleep And not a great forgetfulness; That life tales are not mendaciously deep; And man is not engulfed in utter darkness! V There is in our bosoms Something that is mortal Just like flowers that blossoms, That quickly bows to nature's call. Oh, that there is meaning in existence; That there's something real I can feel; That there is something in nothingness; That man is not up against the wall! VI The Gods in their fancy Fills their heart with pleasure of their own, Man at length fades and dies away In suffering just like the setting sun.
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