The Essence of Life (Baraka)

An unfamiliar world,
with rituals we've never experienced,
languages we've never heard of,
and beliefs we'll never understand.

Deliberate, slow, and pensive,
these people are the inverse of our culture;
their chief's robe to our business suit.
We can watch them paint each other
with bright colors, and we can
appreciate the beauty of it all,
but what does it mean?

Where they live,
tradition is ingrained in
everything they do.
For that, we can't help but be a little jealous.
What do we have, to parallel their belief system;
the mighty dollar?

It's easy to feel small
when we've been told the world is ending.
Like statues watching the sun go down,
we can watch and rest,
and make vain attempts.
But how much of the sky can one person save?

It's conceivable to say
we may be too focused on achievement.
But what's achievement worth
in just a few years?
Decide what you want now,
so that when water-sunlight rainbows
on the grandest scale fade,
you'll remember.
Remember birds flying through rainstorms;
remember raindrops on wingtips.
What is achievement, anyways?

All our cities are built on the vertical line.
Why is sadness the human plague?
Because we're all alive
on an assembly line.
Chicklets, people,
we're on that same ride; life.
Watch, we're burning ourselves down.

Look at that pile of human skulls.
Imagine the eyes that once stared out.
It makes me want to know them all,
because isn't seeing their bones
the worst invasion of privacy?
Learn from your mistakes.
And on the banks of a famed river,
they'll send their shells out,
ashes now.
Which of us are the lucky ones?
The sky smiles down.

(This was written while watching a movie called Baraka. You should watch it.)