THE  MIND

We don't know if the mind
Is a bliss or a curse.
Through this gift, one can find
Man's great gain and his loss.

Man can build, reach the moon,
But his end is a gloom.
He works hard, but dies soon
As each start has its doom.

Birds move round and are glad,
Eat and drink, soar the sky.
In great joy they are clad
As no care makes them cry.

Soothsayer, keep your mouth
Fully closed, and don't say.
Let man's ignorance soothe
The strong plight of that day.

BY JOSEPH ZENIEH
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