Is there anything better?

Is there anything better
To do?
Tell me,
If you take, a very simple view...
To take in those little elements
Of Mother,
As Deified Nature,
As pebbles colored lying shining under water,
As those little forms original life,
Like green tiny miniscule algae,
If you by them a bit bothered,
Is there anything better?
Other
Than sitting quiet?
Sitting only by one
Sitting closely by the beauteous dawn
Filling this life,
This air,
This soil,
This heart...

Tell me,
Dear,
Is there
Anything more dear,
Than being so merged
By the waves rippling,
By the sky opened,
By the breeze of a season,
Filling one?

That way
I am sure
We are all here to stay,
We are all here to be forever in dismay
And wonder,
Revealed to the Mother,
Her best state of showering,
Summers, autumns, winters and springs...
That way,
Can we not be feeling our true selves?
That way,
Can we not discover
What life is all about?
Where flowers sprout?
Which cosmic energy rises a treble to a sombre kind?
Which flow of a stream one to mind forever binds?
Which sky paints the blue blue wide a dream?
Where life meets the spread up infinite?
Why one cries, sobs and yells, and also sings out hap?
How one pours all strifes into her Motherly lap?
How a transparent candid cloud with gaiety weave a tale?
How alone gongs a heavy brassy bell?

Tell me,
Dear,
Is there any better way to live?
Is there any better way to realise
To feel the stoic inside?
Is there any better path?
Other than with bowed head accept that divine Heart,
Which promulgates
A million dreams to bloom,
Everywhere,
In every form...

Is there
Any way better?
To write,
To weave a life?