BY THE ROADSIDE

 

(after Chuang-Tsu and Bunan)

 

One evening on my way back home,

I spied a human skull

Bleached ghostly white, retaining still

Its former shape, wherein the will

To live had swelled its bones.

 

I tapped it with my walking cane,

And asked it, “Did you, Sir,

In all your greed for life, bestir

The twisting fibers of your nerves

To come to this in vain?

 

“What brought you here? A civil war,

Perhaps? or just old age--

Your grand finale on this stage

Of losing battles, where the wage

Can never compensate the scars?”

 

This said, I took it in my hands,

And underneath my head

I made a pillow for my bed

Among the weeds and trash that hid

My sleep from beast and man.

 

At midnight when the town clocks tolled,

That skull became my dream,

And whispered, “What you said to me

More like an orator beseems

Than one who sifts for gold!

 

“Your words described the way of life

Of men who drew their breaths

While in pursuit of happiness

And liberty, in spite of death

Preventing all their strife.

 

“But in the grave those baits and lures

Can never satisfy the Saints

Whose deaths take place without a taint;

Who wipe away the foolish paint

That masks a hollow core.

 

“Perhaps you’d like to hear me speak

About the end of woe.”

“Oh, tell me everything you know!”

The skull resumed, “In Death are no

Distinctions that men seek.

 

“No seasons waste each other there

With changes soon undone;

No phase of moon or fire of sun

Surpasses Wisdom’s light for ones

Who move beyond your sphere.”

 

I heard his words with skeptic doubts,

And said, “If magic arts

Could somehow cause you to depart

From your abyss, and take your part

Once more in your own house,

 

“With mother, father, wife and child,

And all your wealth and friends,

Would you refuse the chance to blend

With what you loved, to live again,

If only for a while?”

 

The skull stared fixedly at me,

And said, knitting its brows,

(This was a dream, remember now!)

“No one who casts away life’s shroud

Regains that misery.

 

“While living, be a dead man, then;

Be dead so through and through

That anything you think or do

Will be as though there were no you--

And dwell here as my friend.”