The Humility of Life

 

Leonardo da Vinci’s ‘Mona Lisa’

 
~~
 
Amidst the clamor of the world, a noiseless beauty emerges. 
Like the bloom of spring, in the midst of winter. 
Its kiss is sharp, like needle hot, bursting through hearts tissue. 
As a warm woolen jumper prickling my neck, I feel the paradox. 
A bird works for comfort, and dare not fathom the extras. 
No nest can be free, but is bought at a price.
 
Bark glides under finger, feel that it is alive,
The bright variations of colour, begging to be studied. 
A home, a tree, a life, a scholar.
How I long for the apple to fall, to right the wrongs, 
To wake me up, dispersing clouds of confusion. 
 
A smile, a creasing of the forehead, sweat;
A distant gaze of marble, longing to shift;
Simpering tones of voice, unobviously barbaric, 
A whimpering inside that I dare say, nobody sees. 
 
Wood fixed in fashion, around paintings of seas
Photos of freedom, barred in boxes of old;
How ironic the race of humanity, can it be seen?
 
A smell of perfume that assigns you a name, 
Love, birth, hate and despair, floating through a vein. 
 
This stranger you know too well,
This textured silence filled with so much of life; 
Observe the observer, listen to the listener, 
Paint the painter, know how he speaks.
 
Listen.
Watch. 
Taste.
Smell.
Touch. 
 
For the humble, beauty emerges;
Dare not scoff at its frailty, 
Moments are fleeting;
Let the breeze have its voice, 
And the grass play its symphony.
 
The Humility of Life. 
 
 

– Iain Sutherland, “The Ink Jester”

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3 thoughts on “The Humility of Life

  1. People are so wrapped up in the trivialities of work, education, and things to be done, they rarely take the time to enjoy the wonder that is in the world. Why do humans do such things?

    A bird works to live, even to comfort, but not to excess. Perhaps the animals do indeed enjoy the scenery more than me. At least they whistle and sing, for us, we’ve made ourselves to busy.

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