Why are you weeping still, my heart
haven't you enough bled?
tears I can't bear any longer
you should not further shed--

I'm sinking, dying before my time
the flower of my youth has hardly blown
nine symphonies, six hundred songs
my 'Winterreise' and ' Die Schone Mullerin'--yet I moan

for fate has its cruelty upon me inflicted
I have so much more that does await
its glory and beauty to unfold in bright sunlight
but night descends and my life has nothing to celebrate

save the ruins of sorrows and heartaches
that all my dreams and hopes do destroy
if there were ever any redemption after I'm gone
it would be my songs that would bring me eternal joy.

Franz Peter Schubert died aged 31 (1797-1828). He is my favourite composer. I wrote this while listening to Die Schone Mullerin--for the fourth time.

You asked me
the water to enter
but never said
there it was terror
with crocs and sharks
a fool I was in error
you I saw from the river
whistling and singing
as though my act
to you was great humour!

Our ills are not cured by education--the learned suffer like the common folk, perhaps even more acutely.

On the common platform of suffering, we are all the same.

What will save us in the end is humility and acceptance
which transcends all learning ands binds  mankind together
in its darkest hours.

A good poem is also a fine painting
and has the ring of a beautiful song.  It gives me three types of joy all at once.

What more need I ask?

Did you say
I owed society a duty?
I am all for myself
to serve others would cause me endless misery.

You put this question to me
' Why do you behave beastly?'
   my reply- caustically-
  ' Because they treat me savagely!'


We should be
civil and tolerant
but could we do that
every day and moment?

you would go mad
to be infinitely patient
  people would test your limits
  to survive demands you should learn
  to be intolerant.

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