Too clever. Not clever enough.
Too clear. Not ambiguous enough.
Too ambiguous. Not clear enough.
Quite original. But I’ve seen more original still.
It’s beautiful. But a little naive.
It’s well argued. But something is missing…
The long hair is right. The nose, elegant.
The eyes learned a thing or two from emerald.
The smile is sweet like a contented canoe.
But the mole is too large, lose the mole.
You’ve won four prizes but only when you win
Twelve will you be the big ass winner,
The hero you’ve always wanted to be.
My friend, the world will always find a way
To blame you, criticize you, tell you
Where you fall short: You may paint ten lovely paintings,
Sublime paintings to which the sun may bow,
Paintings beyond reproach; the eleventh clumsy one,
Though it be as a black spot on the sun,
Will be turned into a galaxy of roaches
By others for their excitement and pleasure.
Once in a while you’ll have a friend correct you,
But judgements, mind you, have almost never to do
With a concern for truth or just measure.
You’ll be criticized because it feels good;
Those who criticize feel a little better;
For a moment they nearly forget their fetter.
Reason is rarely valued for its own sake.
Envy or jealousy can go for a ride,
Anger can come along or stubborn pride,
Be given reason for elegant dress,
Given a way to argue how something
Is overblown somehow or does not suffice,
Has too much fire or too little ice.
The passions can have reason on their side
So that they are felt to be justified.
My friend, you have something unspeakably beautiful
Which no paintings or castles can contain,
Unspeakable beauty beyond space and stars,
Beyond memory, thought, pleasure and pain,
Beyond your cherished beliefs, how you think things should be.
Our thoughts right now are no lovers of truth;
They are still captive of desires, prejudice,
The passions, habit; we’re immature youth.
We’ve just started on the path, started to see
The poisons in our mind; it’s best that we
Work quietly, help others where we can,
But keep silent about what it is we treasure.
For what we value, beauty beyond the mind,
Is not something for those caught in pleasure.
You’ve thought about politics, you prize it.
You’ve taken an interest, it seems.
You’ve thought about entering; I wouldn’t advise it.
Too much ideology, taking a side
Makes for wonderful fodder for one’s pride.
No new outward structure and no reform
Can subdue the beast within, quiet the storm.
An intention can have a lovely face,
But without self-mastery, you will see
One vice simply taking another’s place.
You might see new structures, modified beliefs,
Slightly differently dressed distress and griefs,
But you will not find freedom, my friend.
And you’ll be blamed, regardless of what you do.
Unhappiness finds temporary relief
And pleasure sometimes in the belief
That only the elected leader’s to blame.
The leader’s only the consummation, peak
Of what the people are or what they seek.
My friend, be modest, and don’t try to play
The hero, beacon of change; you can bet
There are monsters within we haven’t seen yet.
We walk a path, let wisdom quietly grow
Like a shy flower somewhere deep in the wood,
Perceived and sought by few – it is well and good.
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