The Dog Every morning this dog, very attached to me, Quietly keeps sitting near my seat Till touching its head I recognize its company. This recognition gives it so much joy Pure delight ripples through its entire body. Among all dumb creatures It is the only living being That has seen the whole man Beyond what is good or bad in him It has seen For his love it can sacrifice its life It can love him too for the sake of love alone For it is he who shows the way To the vast world pulsating with life. When I see its deep devotion The offer of its whole being I fail to understand By its sheer instinct What truth it has discovered in man. By its silent anxious piteous looks It cannot communicate what it understands But it has succeeded in conveying to me Among the whole creation What is the true status of man. SYMPHONY IN GREY MAJOR The sea like a vast silvered mirror reflects the sky like a sheet of zinc; distant flocks of birds make stains on the burnished pale grey background. The sun, like a round, opaque window with an invalid's steps climbs to the zenith; the sea wind relaxes in the shade using its black trumpet as a pillow. The waves that move their leaden bellies seem to moan beneath the pier. Sitting on a cable, smoking his pipe, is a sailor thinking of the beaches of a vague, distant, misty land. This sea-dog is old. The fiery beams of Brazilian sun have tanned his face; the wild typhoons of the China sea have seen him drinking his bottle of gin. The iodine and saltpetre foam long has known his ruddy nose, his curly hair, athletic biceps, his canvas cap, his blouse of drill. Surrounded by tobacco smoke

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1) The Dog2) Symphony in Grey Major

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The Dog

Every morning this dog, very attached to me, Quietly keeps sitting near my seat Till touching its head I recognize its company. This recognition gives it so much joy Pure delight ripples through its entire body. Among all dumb creatures It is the only living being That has seen the whole man Beyond what is good or bad in him It has seen For his love it can sacrifice its life It can love him too for the sake of love alone For it is he who shows the way To the vast world pulsating with life. When I see its deep devotion The offer of its whole being I fail to understand By its sheer instinct What truth it has discovered in man. By its silent anxious piteous looks It cannot communicate what it understands But it has succeeded in conveying to me Among the whole creation What is the true status of man.

SYMPHONY IN GREY MAJOR

The sea like a vast silvered mirrorreflects the sky like a sheet of zinc;distant flocks of birds make stainson the burnished pale grey background.

The sun, like a round, opaque windowwith an invalid's steps climbs to the zenith;the sea wind relaxes in the shadeusing its black trumpet as a pillow.

The waves that move their leaden belliesseem to moan beneath the pier.Sitting on a cable, smoking his pipe,is a sailor thinking of the beachesof a vague, distant, misty land.

This sea-dog is old. The fiery beamsof Brazilian sun have tanned his face;the wild typhoons of the China seahave seen him drinking his bottle of gin.

The iodine and saltpetre foamlong has known his ruddy nose, his curly hair, athletic biceps,his canvas cap, his blouse of drill.

Surrounded by tobacco smoke

the old man sees the far off misty landfor which one hot and golden eveninghis brig set out with all sails set ...

The siesta of the tropics. The sea-dog sleeps.Now the shades of grey enfold him.It is as if an enormous soft charcoalrubbed out the lines of the horizon's arc.

The siesta of the tropics. The old cicadatries out his senile, raucous guitarand the cricket strikes up a monotonous soloon the single string of his violin.