26
What Have
I Done
What have I done—what am I doing,
Sitting here, quietly thinking?
Is life meant only for eating and leaving,
For passing days without meaning?
When I leave this land, and travel afar,
The news of my end will reach somewhere;
My deeds will drift upon the air,
And people will talk of what I was there.
What have I done—what am I doing,
Sitting here, quietly thinking?
The wealth I earned by night and day,
Will it serve me in any way?
A wasted birth, if deeds were vain,
That truth will echo again and again.
Some flowers bloom with scent divine,
Some fade away before their time;
Some hold beauty, but nothing more—
If life has no stream, death feels unsure.
What have I done—what am I doing,
Sitting here, quietly thinking.
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