Why?

Sub specie aeternitatis, 
my breath counts very little,
yet to me means everything.
Vanitas vanitatis --
Beautiful and brittle,
to life I cling.
Beatitudes and miracles abound,
yet loose ends too are all around.

Now that I arrived at stout seventy-eight,
I have more questions than before,
I want to know the why of things, for “fate”
is not enough, I need to know much more:
why love, why happiness, why hate?
Like Einstein and Freud, I want to know “Why War?”
In nineteen thirty-three they told us wherefore:
Today we understand why peace doves cannot soar.

My childhood fantasy of harmony and peace
remains a fiction like the golden fleece.
I thought once that the Sermon on the Mount
would be one day applied, our woes surmount.
Alas, in more than seven decades, I
saw little application -- think I now know why.
My pious hope to help transform the paradigm,
to build a better planet never found a rhyme.

Who am I?
Gosh, I frankly do not know,
prefer not to invent and lie.
I wonder whether I shall grow
at eight and seventy, a seasoned,
senior, settled, calm and reasoned
Heroes, heroines, I still have some.
I would perhaps an Argonaut become.

I still recall a priest who asked me,
what I as grown up would aspire to be
I answered bluntly: "only to be good"
He countered, “maybe to be God”!?
I said, I rather be the lad who would not lie,
the blameless boy who, awed by majesty,
still blurted out the truth:
“the king is naked” , thus the guileless youth.

I have outlived so many friends
and rivals, tried to make amends.
Shall I be blessed with opportunity
to do some good? Or only serendipity?
No one can take my memories away.
I cherish each and every day…
I danced and laughed, and this was good.
The hurt is past, digested, understood.

Streisand sang a simple song called “People” ,
like a church hymn under the high steeple,
chant to life, to sharing with the others,
hymn to all our sisters and our brothers.
“People who need people are the luckiest
people in the world”, the luckiest, funniest
beings on the planet. Cherish people, side-step strife,
I am a lucky guy who relishes all life.

At times I meet disabled persons,
coping with significant exertions,
women, men and children persevering,.
overcoming problems with great ingenuity,
I see them smiling, laughing, crying --
yes, I laud their courage and tenacity.
Good reason to applaud the paralympic games,
attend Saas-Grund’s renowned Mentelity games .

I know that generations of disabled
lived and felt, had joys and woes,
in spite of what was dealt
to them by life. They value their existence,
make the best of it with diligence.
I look at them with empathy :
They have such dignity.
I ask myself, why they not I?
I salute them here – again I query why?

On occasion I see aging ladies, prim,
well-coiffed, loquacious, slim,
coquettish with a touch of vanity
and joie de vivre. Call it true vitality,
a flare, a will to be, an affirmation,
no retreat, surrender, timid abdication.
Not me either …No, I do not feel irrelevant,
I linger on: This be my testament.

I know I’m old, I feel it in my bones,
my knees, my guts, and other zones.
I see it when young people offer me
their seats and smile respectfully.
Ageing also means less appetite,
avoiding bistros “all you can eat”,
escaping rat-race and the fake-need to compete,
no longer sure to claim I’m always right.

How sweet it is to age together with my wife,
whose care enriches and prolongs my life.
This is the time to toast to old monogamy!
Who wants to be alone and free?
We like to look into each other’s eyes,
share laughs and tears in harmony,
for solitude is so unnatural, unwise,
and spouses help us see the clouds and skies.

Forsan et haec olim meminisse juvavit!
Yes, I cherish tumbling memories
that my busy brain inhabit,
memories of smiles and melodies,
butterflies that flutter, sailboats on Geneva lake,
mountains coated with fresh snow
-- silvery eye candy -- icing on a cake.
I love the sunrise glare, the sunset afterglow.

As a child I loved to climb the trees,
the view was clear there and fresh breeze
invigorated me. I loved the springtide green,
explored mysterious forests, elves unseen,
my eyes would skim beyond the green into the blue
I always dreamed of treetops tried and true.
Today, years hence, I still look up into the sky
above the trees, breathe in the breeze and ask not why.

The talents I received at birth,
How have I used them? Will I leave this Earth
a better or a poorer place?
Did I make someone happy, share God’s grace?
He chose the role and costumes for my play,
I tried to do my best and not to stray.
As Goethe wrote: Wer immer strebend sich bemüht
den können wir erlösen. That is life‘s ripened fruit.

My youthful phobia of an early death
did not materialize. Under my breath
I sing: “I can no longer die at twenty,
thirty, forty, fifty, sixty, seventy.
Ya no me malogro, ni tampoco
puedo malograrme. Vivo!”
Would be nice to part with finches singing,
and my loved ones hymning.

Yes, I can be grateful for my destiny,
a sense of harmony and equanimity.
We mortals breathe and have a date with death,
but let it be humanely late.
It comes to all in all due time,
thus, let it happen, let it rhyme.
Till then my spirit will remain Juventus!
Sings with Horace: Felix sua sorte contentus!