THE MEANING OF LIFE

What is the point in burning oneself
To make a few wisps of smoke,
When the swirling gusts of smiling time
Will scatter them with a careless stroke?
Desperately, some meaning in life
It’s our vanity that makes us see;
Life is too busy in living itself,
To indulge your little fantasy.
Not that I know not that life
Is no more than what I can see,
Yet the mind keeps fooling itself,
That this cannot be all that can be.
No deeper meaning awaits your quest,
The rainbow ends in a place empty,
The leaden pain of a gnawing heart
Is all that your reward will ever be..

© manab

Eleven Walks with Expert Eyes

majority of what is happening around
you. You are missing the events
unfolding in your body, in the distance,
and right in front of you.
By marshaling your attention to these
words, helpfully framed in a distinct
border of white, you are ignoring an
unthinkably large amount of information
that continues to bombard all of your
senses: the hum of the fluorescent
lights, the ambient noise in a large
room, the places your chair presses
against your legs or back, your tongue
touching the roof of your mouth, the
tension you are holding in your shoulders
or jaw, the map of the cool and warm
places on your body, the constant hum
of traffic or a distant lawn-mower, the
blurred view of your own shoulders and
torso in your peripheral vision, a chirp of
a bug or whine of a kitchen appliance.

© manab