With no plan, with no purpose

planning-for-the-future

With no plan, with no purpose
I walk around in circles.
I feel calm, not nervous.
With no plan, with no purpose.

With no worry, with no fear
My path is straight and clear.
Here I am to disappear.
With no worry, with no fear.

With no hope, with no promise
I look into the silent abyss.
Everything has gone amiss.
With no hope, with no promise.

With no thought, with no mind
My eyes are dark and blind.
Myself I daily lose and find.
With no thought, with no mind.

With no sorrow, with no pain
I repeat my sins again.
I cannot cleanse this ugly stain.
With no sorrow, with no pain.

*Painting “Planning for the Future” by Basuki Abdullah

 

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There is no future, friend

graveyard-under-snow-1826

There is no future, friend.
No other life to spend.
Clear out your mind, unbend.
Death really is the end.

There is no future, friend.
So why you still pretend
that broken things you can mend
and that death is not the end?

There is no future, friend.
No peaks and mountains to ascend.
Against the stream though you may wend,
your path quite soon will find its end.

There is no future, friend.
No truth or honor to defend.
To live forever you may intend,
but when death calls, it is the end.

There is no future, friend.
On no god you can depend.
This life you cannot transcend.
Death really is the end.

There is no future, friend.
No other life to spend.
Clear out your mind, unbend.
Death really is the end.

*Painting “Graveyard under Snow” by Caspar David Friedrich, 1826.

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I hear the sounds of one hand clapping

left-hand-with-the-index-finger

I hear the sounds of one hand clapping
and point my finger to the moon.
My life in part I spend napping,
hoping not to wake up too soon.

I see this world through the windows
of my dark and blurred eyes.
What lies outside, who really knows?
Who can pretend to be so wise?

I listen to how people speak
about the current world affairs.
Have they found what they seek
and got an answer to their prayers?

I touch the sky with my fingertips
and breathe the universe in me.
With this life I’ve come to grips
as far as I can tell and see.

I catch my shadows in the nearby park
and try to get lost in the trees.
I dare to fail and miss my mark.
Thus to live in peace and ease.

*Painting “Left hand with the index finger” by Vasily Polenov, 1885.

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Open up the closet door

funeral-symphony-v-1903

Open up the closet door,
let the skeleton come out.
With a violent cry and a mighty roar,
strive to overcome your doubt.

Leave your skeleton to roam
freely at its pace and will.
Where he is, there is your home –
a place to rest and to stand still.

Look at his pale blue face
with neither fear nor shame,
Longing for a warm embrace,
into your life he came.

Let him do what he wants,
but you observe patiently.
See what ghosts he seeks and hunts,
know the place where he likes to be.

And lock your soul in that place
where your skeleton had been.
Then a smile won’t leave your face,
anew your life will begin.

*Painting “Funeral Symphony” by Mikalojus Ciurlionis, 1903.

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It matters not one bit

a-boor-asleep

What the world may think of me,
it matters not one bit.
Whether chained, enslaved or free
my life is as I see it.

What I do for good or ill,
it matters not one bit.
Nothing I do of my own will,
only what my genes permit.

How high I seem to climb,
it matters not one bit.
All things come in good time
to those who never quit.

How many small ambitions I have achieved,
it matters not one bit.
My brain is tricked and deceived
to think as I see fit.

And if our lives fell short,
it matters not one bit.
No one is a different sort.
to death we all submit.

*Painting “A Boor Asleep” by Adriaen Brouwer.

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For thousand years I wait and wait

cupid-with-the-wheel-of-fortune

For thousand years I wait and wait
and spin in vain my prayer wheel.
Is this my life, is this my fate?
For thousand years I wait and wait.
Myself I can invent, create.
From nothingness to something real.
For thousand years I wait and wait
and spin in vain my prayer wheel.

*Painting – “Cupid with the Wheel of Fortune” by Titian, c.1520.

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My prayer is a merry laughter

the-young-rembrandt-as-democritus-the-laughing-philosopher-1629

My prayer is a merry laughter
in which I say: “Ha ha! Ha ha!”
I do not care what comes after.
My prayer is a merry laughter.
Life is but a yearning for the hereafter.
A hope to cancel nature’s law.
My prayer is a merry laughter
in which I say: “Ha ha! Ha ha!”

*Painting – “The Young Rembrandt as Democritus the Laughing Philosopher” by Rembrandt, 1629.

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