my mind refuses to think
my body refuses to work
deep inside me, i want to think and work
but i refuse to, anyhow

and so there lacks life
the life that powers dreams
and there rings nonchalant hyms
about eternity
ringing
echoing
growing softer and softer
but nevertheless won't stop ringing

why is that so
if the birds do not work
if the man does not toil
if the hands are disgusted
at the smells of fertile soil

where is life
where one does not see it?
where one does not feel it?
and yet there it is

now
waiting
waiting for it
waiting for you
simply waiting
until the time comes for it to shine
and we'll hope it does shine
as brightly as the bright sun
not looking at anything else
except the sun
blindness then
not blind to light
but blind to dark

we'll embrace it
but sooner or later
it dies down
the stinging tips of the sun
no longer stinging
but giving a shallow warmth
until the warmth dies down
and we'll wonder
why?

should we look for it when we have tried
each and every single nook
we've tried
and now strength fails us
we use the last remaining efforts to fumble for it
by accident or not
we want it
and we realize we can't have it

toil fails
fruits unharvested
bright light, gone away in mist and pieces
and we, broken in pieces
lie
and wait

where is it?