Επιμέλεια: Εύα Πετροπούλου Λιανού
Beneath the trees, where morning lays
Its tender gold on leaves and streams,
I sat awhile, away from days
That measure life by restless dreams.
The blossoms fell without a sound,
Like memories too gentle to grieve;
The breeze moved freely through the orchard,
As though the world had learnt to breathe.
A little bird upon a bough
Was singing to the open sky;
It had no yesterday to mourn,
No distant tomorrow passing by.
It asked no question of the stars,
Nor sought to know what lay beyond;
The world was neither near nor far,
But simply there, and it belonged.
How strange that such a little heart
Could hold a joy so vast and free;
It owned no treasure, claimed no throne,
Yet seemed more rich than you or me.
It did not sing to win applause,
Nor spread its wings to be admired;
It lived without a borrowed cause,
And found in living all desired.
We, with our knowledge and our pride,
Keep searching for a promised shore;
We gather things to fill our lives,
Then wonder why we still want more.
We chase the years, we fear the end,
We turn each moment to a race;
And miss the miracle of being here,
The quiet beauty of this place.
Perhaps the bird knows what we forget:
That joy is not a prize to earn;
It comes when we release our debts
To yesterday and tomorrow’s return.
I watched it vanish through the leaves,
Its song still trembling in the air;
And felt how little life requires
When the heart has learnt to be aware.
O, let me learn from that small voice,
To live without the need to possess;
To find in every passing day
A quiet, unborrowed happiness.
For wisdom may not always speak
In books, or words, or grand design;
Sometimes it sings from a trembling branch,
And makes the ordinary divine.
@ Pankaj Buragohain
All Rights Reserved.
