A naked body, lying unattended on the field, coat taken off.
Baaaaing no more
A four-footed sheep wrecked, stuck on the sun lit shore.
For whatever reason of your banal death, the earth embraces you.
Simple.
Who are we to suppose
That we are, by all means, and in every aspects, happier than those
Heavily-furred, short-legged creatures?
With heads bending low
To the grass of simple happiness, caress their stomach
And think of nothing.
Maybe they should envy us our books, and admire our songs
Our philosophical thoughts, all night and day long
And dream to be under our tedious limited shelters.
They chew the world in which matters matter
And in which the sage, for the burden of perception, severely suffer
From the unbelievable sophistication of the ego.
Maybe they just don’t care, kept busy with their green verdancy.
Walking simply steps, taking simple nap at night,
Without Universe on them sheds light
Of knowledge about the simplicity of flesh, and of death
Which, for whatever reason of their noble sacrifice,
Would just swallow them alike.
