Our House

This is an ancient house
whose walls are chiefly brown.
The building blocks are bones
The windows – the sensory organs

The pipes are the vessels,
The waters being the blood;
The pump house is a marvellous device
That works for decades knowing no rest.

The wiring network is par excellence
No electronics engineer can duplicate it.
The system is always alert
Circadian Rhythms are finely knit.

The drainage is total,
For us, it may all seem casual!
No repair is required
If our stomach is properly cared

A battalion guards the house
No nation has such a vast armed force.
It is very much a silent battle,
We can have peaceful days.

The house is our own,
This is the gift of our parents.
We owe a debt to our ancestors,
We are given the house to live in.

This is a fine construction, with no parallels,
Yet we need to pay rapt attention.
Living in tune with nature, body, and mind,
We can play the finest notes of life.
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