Play things

Child, how happy you are sitting in the dust, playing with a broken twig all the

morning.

I smile at your play with that little bit of a broken twig.

I am busy with my accounts, adding up figures by the hour.

Perhaps you glance at me and think, "What a stupid game to spoil your

morning with!"

Child, I have forgotten the art of being absorbed in sticks and mud-pies.

I seek out costly playthings, and gather lumps of gold and silver.

With whatever you find you create your glad games, I spend both my time and

my strength over things I never can obtain.

In my frail canoe I struggle to cross the sea of desire, and forget that I too am

playing a game.

[Rabindranath Tagore]