All his Days are Sorrow
Tri Budhi Sastrio
Sorrow in the past, today, and in tomorrow
Is our faith, our destiny, because all of us,
Either like or dislike, have to meet and feel,
Have to touch and to play, have to embrace
And hug, even have to peace and grease.
We know sorrow, we know misery and sad,
Walking every day with them hand in hand
But it is a goal, it is a purpose, not useless,
As it is said by a prophet in the somber tone.
Because there is a man whose work has been
Done with wisdom, with knowledge, and with
An expert hand; but one who has done nothing
For it will have it for his heritage.
This again is to no purpose and a great evil.
What does a man get for all his work, and
For the weight of care with which he has done his work under the sun?
All his days are sorrow, and his work is full of grief.Â
Even in the night his heart has no rest.
This again is to no purpose.
There is nothing better for a man than
Taking meat and drink, and having delight in his work.
This again I saw was from the hand of God.
Who may take food or have pleasure without him?
To the man with whom he is pleased,
God gives wisdom and knowledge and joy;
But to the sinner he gives the work of getting
Goods together and storing up wealth, to give
To him in whom God has pleasure.
This again is to no purpose and desire for wind.
Sorrow yes, misery yes, but to no purpose as
It is written long time ago, Kasidi thinks no, no.
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In slumber, he finds no reprieve,
His dreams a tangled web of grief.
Each dawn, a heavy heart doth break,
And every day, a fresh despair doth make.
His steps, once light, now weighed with woe,
His eyes, once bright, now dim with sorrow.
His smile, once wide, now but a trace,
His laughter, once full, now but a sigh.
All his days, a sorrowful refrain,
A never-ending cycle of pain.
The world, once full of hope and glee,
Now but a bleak and barren sea.
His heart, once full of love and light,
Now but a vessel of endless night.
His soul, once pure, now but a shell,
A hollow echo of a life to tell.
