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Poem

Sits content on the ridge cap 

of your roof, tweeting, mind fleeting

is happy to find a worm, a bug

cares not for the song 

of the nightingale

just as well

you'd place him in a cage

to hear him sing

cares not for the eagles flight

you'd tame him, make him hunt

for you

he is happy to be the sparrow

as that is what he was intended to be

how sad would it be

if there were no sparrows

in the big city marketplace


We humans so get off the track of life

end up derailed, marooned, shipwrecked

but of our own accord

carry too much baggage


What do we care about destiny

so are we caught up in our own

web of consternation

that we are blind to truth


You know that the mighty king,

the hippy, the judge, the baker

and the undertaker, and my dear reader,

even you, and me

we all stem from the same cell, originally

as we were taught at R I, in primary school


Yet all that matters little, cosmically speaking

as the earth spins about itself and about the sun etc.

it does not spin for or around you nor me

but it is so indescribably beautiful

that in the reflection of a puddle

in the street

we can see the moon, the sun, our faces

cathedrals and mountains

regardless of riches or poverty.


Like a sparrow

we ought to accept

what we have

as that is most likely

how it was intended.

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