Forest Dwelling

Back to the jungle - what a strange mood,
Freed from duties, surprised that I could.
Feeling the breeze and touching the stone;
Coming here, it seems ages have gone.
No phone to ring, no computer to write,
Now life is placed on the proper height.
Here colours arenít gray and sounds arenít noise,
How many in that world have such choice!
But few are there who can be alone,
Just by oneself long days, nights Ďtill dawn.
Some length away from the next human soul,
When sorrow arises, who could be told?
And here I am alone with my mind.
I knew before, itís not always kind.
It flitters and fidgets, cannot be still,
Iím patient with it, but without skill.
It thinks about things, which shouldnít be thought.
When lust has arisen then I am caught.
Her, I imagine and her sweet words,
But whereís she? - Just illusion, which hurts.
Others forget that monks are humans too.
A robe is a cover, but they havenít a clue.
But sometimes the mind, it becomes still;
With inner fights ceased and nothing to kill.
Such food for the heart is a hard task;
" . . . and food for the body?" - you may ask.
The farmers from far come everyday,
And bring what they have in a happy way.
Women they smile and men are concerned.
Theyíve treasure, which canít be bought or burned.
Are they more happy for what they care?
This I donít know, it is in the air.
Today in solitude my last night,
Tomorrow Iím back to human fight.
I hope some peace to take with me,
So that I realize what others canít see.
I will miss the sun greeting the sky;
The song of nature, the birds flying high;
A beautiful wasp building a nest,
Next to my place where I have rest.
Papaya and roses near to my hut,
With nothing inside, made out of mud.
I will miss winds whisper in the trees,
The colour of clouds when sun has ceased;
Watching the sky Ďtill stars light their lights.
In that sphere we humans have n rights.
In few words thatís all I wanted to say,
Life will move on, but memories stay.
Ven. Pajalo