Useless
Tri Budhi Sastrio
It is a fact that what we have done, many of
Them, are useless but what we can say and
Do if those are finish, those have completed.
Nothing we can do and nothing we can argue.
The only thing we can do, if in the future we
Don't like those things happen again, we see,
We watch, we study carefully and sincerely
All of them and try to understand completely
Why those are happened, those are occurred.
Feeling regret is okay, but it doesn't change
A thing, whatever will be will be, quesera sera. Â
A prophet writes the following to express them.
I said in my heart, I will give you joy for a test;
So take your pleasure--but it was to no purpose.
Of laughing I said, It is foolish; and of joy---
What use is it? I made a search with my heart
To give pleasure to my flesh with wine, still
Guiding my heart with wisdom, and to go after
Foolish things, so that I might see what was good
For the sons of men to do under the heavens
All the days of their life. I undertook great works,
Building myself houses and planting vine-gardens.
I made myself gardens and fruit gardens,
Planting in them fruit-trees of all sorts.
I made pools to give water for the woods with their young trees.
I got men-servants and women-servants,
And they gave birth to sons and daughters
In my house; I had great wealth of herds and
Flocks, more than all who were before me.
I got together silver and gold and the wealth
Of kings and of countries; I got makers of song,
Male and female; and the delights of the sons
Of men--girls of all sorts to be my brides.
And nothing which was desired by my eyes
Did I keep from them; I did not keep any joy
From my heart, because my heart took pleasure
In all my work, and this was my reward.
Then, all of them are to no purpose, are useless.
That is the world, that is the life, that is the flesh.
(tbs-kas/sda-22122024-087853451949)
When we insert the title of this poem to the browser of AIPG, the following poem shows up.
In vain I search for purpose and meaning,
Useless endeavors, my heart keep bleeding.
A never-ending quest for something grand,
But all I find is emptiness, a barren land.
The hours tick by, a slow and steady beat,
My mind a jumble of disjointed treat.
I chase the wind, a futile feat,
My steps but a faint echo, a hollow repeat.
The world outside is cold and grey,
A reflection of my own dismay.
I wander lost, without a way,
A useless soul, drifting night and day.
But still I dream of hope and light,
A glimmer of a brighter sight.
A time when purpose finds its might,
And I can leave this useless plight.
