Confusion

Little by little, everything is crumbling --
bricks, stones, my heart too is crumbling.

Even though there has been
no slack in applying enough plaster -- red, blue, green
yellow -- whatever colour we get, we mix.
They do not always mix, yet we keep trying.

I want to keep breathing and lie on the river’s breast,
live by seeing the sky’s blue,
keep alive by smelling the flower’s scent.

Nevertheless, the confusion carries on.
The plaster peels off --
bricks, stones, and my heart.

This is the way I walk, talk,
live, and sometimes even die.
Nobody knows that, nobody understands.

Does the river understand, or the sky?
Does the sky understand?
Does the flower understand?

Do they really understand everything?
Or just console themselves in confusion?

Life and life’s realisation -- what’s the relation?
Living and stagnation -- what’s the relation?
Human beings and monkeys -- what’s the relation?
Liking and loving -- what’s the relation?

Little by little, everything is crumbling --
bricks, stones, my heart too is crumbling.