Yes I travelled a thousand miles
In search of meaning, in search of conviction
I spoke to learned men in their cavernous dwellings
I broke bread with paupers on their thin straw mats
I pressed my ear against ancient trees
And heard rumblings on wisdom, concentric and deeply rooted
Even deciphered the song of the sparrows:
Meaningless, meaningless, all is meaningless.
The years go by and erode my flesh
But what is flesh but a tent for the soul?
The soul, for want of healing air,
Compels feet to scale mountains, defy waters, and traverse horizons
But still these things remain enigmatic to me:
The weight of a soul; the purpose for a soul
These questions vex me; my heart turns into wax.
Unfulfilled, I return home to my aged mother
A languid frame still capable of ferocious love
Exhausted, I eat the congee she prepared for me
And realize: this, this, is enough.
