chronicles of the rabid yogi

tired from the hard walk under the trying sun the rabid yogi went and sat inside a cave which was on the way , it was pretty dark but cool . He looked around but there was no one ,yet he knew that he was
never alone.

the rabid yogi as always cried there, he moaned ,he wailed , for he never understood the ways of man.

than he sat properly, washed his face with the water he had , and started writing....



what is this?
but meaningless !
utterly meaningless
everything is meaningless

what does man gain from all his labour
at which he toils under the sun?

Generations come and generation go,
but the earth remanins for ever.

The sun rises and the sun sets ,
and hurries back to where it rises.

all streams flow into the sea
yet the sea is never full.
to the place the streams come from
there they return again.

all things are wearisome
more than one can say.

the eye never has enough of seeing,
nor the ear its fill of hearing.

what has been ,will be done again;
there is nothing new under the sun.

is there anything of which one can say,
"look! there is something new"?
it was here ,long ago
before our time

there is no remembrance of men of old
and even those who are yet to come
will not be remembered
by those who follow.

man is but a cockroach
all he does is survive

with this the rabid yogi closed his old tattered, tear stained book and started walking again under the trying sun....