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Read Ebook: My Rubaiyat by Hartmann Sadakichi
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Ebook has 91 lines and 11501 words, and 2 pages
There is no answer to the quest, Who knows where we will meet again! The star realms opening at night Tell us of other wonder worlds-- Are they spinning through space for us, Shall we breathe there an ampler air?
XL.
Follow yon pilgrims of the East Through avenues of cypress dim, Through golden temples, portals red-- Faithful they climb the holy hill And there confront an empty space Is that the signet of the grave!
Some think they know and others doubt, But who can offer balm to all. If all were good and fair to meet No need there be of paradise, We would not long for other skies And gather fruit from every tree.
But what sad use the world has made Of nature's boundless plenitude. The frank and free, the sane and true Are trodden down by foolish crowds. Greed, barren, shameless, rules supreme, There is no room for Christ on earth.
They dream of universal peace In times when greed still cruder grows Than in the days of Skalds and Huns-- Oh, dream of a fraternal race, Of happiness to all of man! When will love stronger prove than war!
The sword shall break the sword they say, And force shall strangle force some day. Thus men march toward battles red, Their mangled bodies strew the plains, While o'er the corpse the mother wails, Her firstborn slain, her pride in life.
Why should youth be killed from afar, Races struggle in deadly clutch! Are no more fallow fields to plough? Is death's scythe not keen enough! Oh, mankind, when will you waken To an honor nobler than death!
If no tread of marching armies Answered a nation's bugle peal, If young and old refused to bear Arms 'gainst brethren they do not know, Then only, in some dim future May we greet the dawn-doves of peace.
One holy war has to be fought-- To make both man and woman free: The world will flash with signal lights, Each land ring with its people's voice-- For from those crimson rivulets Will rise a saner sun-warm life.
For certain things needs must be changed, Times cannot stay so dull and grey. Men must rough a freer wind-blown life, Women no longer shed their bloom In drudgery for bed and fare, And children age before their time.
Draughts of pure air, bright beams of light Are free gifts coming from the skies, Why should sad mothers, children frail In dark and gruesome hovels pine, Freeze and starve, and with thirsty eyes See mirth with song and dance glide by.
And hunger is a fearful thing. It dwarfs the better part in man, Naught but a withered husk it leaves Of some thing that should live and breathe. All nobler impulses turn ghosts, Haunting waste places of the mind.
It lifts the knife to deadly thrusts, It turns to brutes all those it sways, It presses torches into fists, And peaceful men turn to revolt. We stand at brinks of volcanoes Yet smilingly dot them with homes.
What can we do, how can we help! The poor can never help the poor, The rich but scatter alms derived From what is due the common herd. The weed plots are crowded thick, Who cuts a path for weary feet!
Oh, the helplessness of the aged, Of the needy, sick, and lonely. Can you explain why they suffer, Must some lose all while others thrive? Can no one wear a thornless crown Without some hurt to human kind?
Oh, these homes of blighted reason, Who would not weep at sights like these. Few years ago they were like us, They worked and played, they loved and laughed, And now--beasts without reason; Where err their erstwhile joys and hopes!
And those who lurk in deadly sin, Whose book of life reads blood and gold, Thieves, bandits, outcasts, vagrom folks, Eternal victims of the law, Who cannot change, who have no chance To wash their grimy hands from crime.
They know not what to do on earth, Their cup is filled with hate and lust. None has taught them. Will you teach them? Have you a larger soul than they? You have drawn a lucky number, For them gay fortune went astray.
In foolish kindness some aspire To staunch the ever-aching wound, And so they teach, and so they preach. How vain to think that your idea May cure the vanity of things, 'Tis shuttlecock and battledore.
How can I give right directions When I am a wanderer myself! Onward I stroll and ever on In my own way courting the sun And fashioning Arcadia Of passing winds and flying clouds.
For my happiness cannot be yours; In humble ecstasy I could live In a hill-town, among roses, With robins feasting at my table, While woods and fields, valleys and streams Around would be my promised land.
You might not like such simple fare, For you the winds may blow too mild-- I cannot tread your well-paved roads Though verdant they may seem to you. Each path leads to some point of view, What you like best, is best for you.
Sunshine we want but also shadows, Each joy demands its note of pain, Each cheek must know the fall of tears That many dream-swept hopes were vain. Sorrow digs up unknown treasures Within the caverns of the mind.
Have you ever lost a treasure More precious far than gold or health! Trailed a white hearse with faltering steps That bore your dearest dream away, Sat at the deathbed of your mother. Or closed a friend's dull staring eyes!
You know, the frost that chills the core, That all we love is naught but clay. Silent a boat glides o'er the Styx, Yet it leaves light within its wake; As weary plains grow green with rain The soul expands in tear-starred nights.
Tears furrow thought, they strengthen will, Cleanse the foul places of the mind, Yield soothing light to ship-wrecked hearts. Happy those who, sorrow-driven, Bright moments wrest from waves of pain And sail their barks to peaceful ports.
This is the true philosophy, Every child may learn the lesson-- Blaze your own trail the best you can Without trespassing foreign ground; Smile, play, and sing, and be alive To every blow of circumstance.
To meet the hours as they come, Salute the days as they pass by, To bend your neck to no one's yoke, To be full master of yourself, To do a kindness when you can-- That is the happiness of life.
To help a friend in dire needs, To speak a word to the oppressed, To think of things that help mankind, To scatter joy, unasked, unblessed-- For knowing minds divine the rest-- That is the happiness of life.
Yes, life is vain, life is empty, But why repeat a sad refrain, This echo of Khayyam's quatrains, As long as each day has a morrow, As long as orchards bloom again, And empty cups may be refilled.
Though we recall that days are short, Let's make the passing moments hum. Bees do murmur in the heather, Does sundew exist only for them! A little joy today seems fairer Than the brightest strongholds of Spain.
There are some joys all may attain, To spouse some cause however slight, To be a host to loyal friends, To found some freeholds of your own, Where mothers laugh and children romp, And fare in health and fragrance there.
Some day religion unbiased May sponsor stern needs of the day, Life grow untrammeled and joyous Without the black magic of law. Science and art prove their uses And quicken the heart-beats of all.
You, people, come out of your dreams, Woo fortune and you may win her, Fill the world with acts of good cheer, Forget grey cares and ragged toil, Face bravely the swell and the gale And strike out for headlands unknown.
Seek beauty and you will find her, Brave the surge of the crowded street, Or rest at the mountain's green slope And commune with trees and the birds, With the soil and the mossgrown rocks, And pray at the shrine of the gods.
There are roses and there is youth, There are joys and sorrows and love, Dawn and twilight, the noonday sun, The rolling plains, sky and the sea, None have lost their old-time mystery, Events pass away, beauty survives.
Let us wrest beauty from all there is, Each and all in their own poor way, And blithely onward life will flow, Rare like a long-drawn summer's eve, And we'll hail and bless each moment Before it fades into the dark.
? Transcriber's Notes: ? Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation were made consistent only when a predominant form was found in this book. ? Text that was in italics is enclosed by underscores .
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