The journey is never finished
life is an ever-flowing river
winding to the endless unknown sea
experience but offers glimpses---it never

does allow us to see the full light of things
poor bewildered mortals we are
searching, questioning, struggling
groping, agonising --however far

we've travelled and however much
has come our way-- dim always is the horizon
misty is the sky, the writing on the road-signs has faded
the dust falls into our eyes and reason

is but a crude and weak guide
this, this thought ( it dawned me suddenly) must be cherished:
all  that's worthy and beautiful has its abode
in the magnificence, grandeur and mystery of the unfinished.

Those guys--the intellectuals-
are bashers----they are bashing
words, ideas and philosophy to death
with their endless quibbling and quarrelling

but for me an uneducated peasant
all that I know and need to know is farming--
planting,  sowing,  tendering, nurturing and harvesting
the sun rising and setting--for a good season is all I'm hoping.

Forget high-flung
philosophy
only four words you need to know
to live life well and happily-

here are the four pillars of wisdom:
(hold them in your mind and in every activity)
they are so easy to remember-- surely-
'perhaps, 'maybe',  'probably' and 'possibly'.

The last bird-song has faded from the hill
The first stars  are awake, serene and still
I'm waiting by the silent lake
You must come to me for love's sake.

Here far away from the human race
None will see us as we embrace
Billions of lovers the moon and stars have seen
They know what love is and what it has always been.

Somewhere in time
do you still remember?
I was sixteen and you were fifteen
and you said to me: 'I'll love you forever'.

Somewhere in time
you left me for another
fifty years have taken flight
I really don't want to remember.

This call--mysteriously so
I scarcely know
from whence it does come.

It will not go
away
it insists that it must stay.

I can't make out
is this the voice of the past
or the future?  How deeply I doubt.

There are no words
in the call
more akin to faint chords of music--how they enthral

and I seem to be dangling
among the stars and the moon-  ----celestially--
(am I dreaming?).

Soon to sleep  succumb my weary eyes
and suddenly words dawn upon me
in my dream---you are your own call--there's no mystery.

Think not old age is about wisdom
rather it's about many an uncertainty
and doubts despite the myriad of experiences
life is not understood by years lived--it remains the deepest mystery.