The Wisdom of Sacrifice

Wisdom does not reside, nor resides selflessness
in mourning a mulberry’s demise or its bare arms.
For the sacrifice of more than countless,
always more, never less,
yields but a piece of futile silk,
a piece, not even a yarn.

17 thoughts on “The Wisdom of Sacrifice

      1. I will be grateful if you do.
        “…yields but a piece; not even a yarn.” and that too of ‘a futile silk.’ I want to know your idea… Like, why? Or what? Or, just, explain me maybe?

    1. This piece is related to one I wrote earlier, titled “The Silk Song”.
      This one however portrays the futility of humanity in the larger scope of existence and legacy, analogizing the silk worm as mortal aspiration and the mulberry as life. Would you not agree that too many people have to come and go for something significant to stay, if even the significance may be relative, much for some and naught for others?
      Futile silk is the achievement for which countless mulberries must wither and countless worms must die, and then, even then is yielded not a yarn.

      1. Okay, cool.

        Futility of humanity in the larger scope of existence. But that piece—even if it ain’t a yarn or even if it isn’t significant for everyone—is still the only productive and most significant thing at that time from and to the worms, no?

        It’s all futile in the end, yes. And wisdom does not reside in mourning a mulberry’s death… Thank you so very much for explaining your theme.

        Read and loved “The Silk Song”.

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