Suffering and Life
Born with hands
Grasping spastic
As the network knits
Capturing
For the time
A being
If each cloud a silver lining contains
Each silver lining is by a cloud contained
“Life is suffering,” say the Wise
Via the vague interpreters
Of lost Aramaic
And obscure Middle Indo-Aryan
From their monastic cells
Where they wear
Shirts of hair
The hands touch soft skin and broken glass
The eyes see beauty and road kill
The ears hear music and gunfire
The nose smells roses and sulfur
The mouth tastes honey and vomit
The heart both loves and despairs
If you derive pleasure from a person
Their absence causes pain
The sky could not be as blue
Were it not for rain
Day not so bright
But for the night
Happiness not as joyful
Deprived the contrast it enjoys
With sorrow
Truth cannot exist
Unless lies persist
One cannot get to the land of perception
Without first passing through
The swamp of misconception
Moments of abject sadness
And pure delight
Opposites juxtaposed
In every moment
Comprise this life
