Master, Serene

By: Fernando Pessoa

Winslow Homer, The Whittling Boy, 1873

Master, serene are
All hours
We waste, if in
The wasting them,
As in a jar,
We set flowers.

There are no sorrows
Nor joys either
In our life.
So let us learn,
Thoughtlessly wise,
Not to live it,

But to flow down it,
Tranquil, serene,
Letting children
Be our teachers
And our eyes be
Filled with Nature.

On the stream's edge,
On the road verge,
It falls right-
In always the same
Light respite
From being alive.

Time passes,
Tells us nothing.

We grow old.
Let's learn, as though
Tongue in cheek,
To watch us going.

It's not worth while
To make a gesture.
There's no resisting
The cruel god
Who devours forever
His own sons.

Let us pick flowers,
Let's dip lightly
These hands of ours
In the calm streams,
That we may learn
Calm like them.

Sunflowers ever
Eyeing the sun,
From life let's go
Tranquilly, not have
Even the remorse
Of having lived.

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You can find this immaculate poem and more like it in Fernando Pessoa’s great little book — I Have More Souls Than One

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