Blessed is the tree, which is barely sensitive,
and the hard stone because it no longer feels,
for there is no pain greater than the pain of being alive,
nor greater sorrow than a conscious mind.
Being and knowing nothing is being aimless,
It is the fear of having a future terror ...
And the certain terror of being dead tomorrow,
We must suffer for life for what we do not know and hardly suspect,
For the flesh that tempts with its fresh clusters,
the tomb awaits with its funeral branches,