Sometimes when
we thought
what we did was wanting
our own self we fought

for each life is hinged
to a self-created standard
(unknown to the world)
it has to be honestly measured

Am I just
the summary
of my past?
What's the present me?

Am I just
a book fully-written
or with unfinished pages
what have I forgotten?

Am I the same smile
or has that turned to frown?
Am I still true and authentic
or have I let myself down?

Am I what you thought before
or am I not worthy to be remembered?
All I know is that I'm changeable
but every aspect of life I must celebrate

Pity
differs from empathy
be careful to show the latter
the former would hurt grievously

Don't judge
nor conclude
don't regard me
as bad or good-

with myself
constantly I struggle
hidden, always so
from people-

you know not a whit
of my inner side
speak not then
in silence abide

Zen


My aims are modest

I am not easily stressed

The beautiful will be the same
as the ugly---it will fade and perish
and be placed where the latter is

We change more than life
   it's only a passive watcher
   we are our restlessness
   the perennial wanderer and seeker-

   stop or pause we know  never
   there's no end to our endeavour
   too often fruitless is that we hanker after
   ourselves we undo--wherever, whatever