one does not go out into the open fields
to carry a book
read and pour upon all interests
in a picture
of birds and trees and
lakes,
one goes out into the open to watch a flock of birds,
homing
to a tall leafy tree
and hearing them all chirp
or sing
one goes into the sea to sail a boat
fish,
or swim and see the colors of the corals
or feel a school of
rainbow fishes
one finally leaves the book to its place
between the shelves
out there into the open fields
lies the unending pages of days, the lessons that no word
or groups of words
can ever trap,
for real knowledge like fish in the ocean
like whales
so huge, and slimy
always escape from our grasp leaving us the sound
that till today
shall mesmerize us
in the continual mysteries of
our thirsting
ignorance
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem