The song my son is softly humming spells

The song my son is softly humming spells
a quiet babbling twitter of a bird, and
I am afraid that I may shift the burden
of all my torments on somebody else.

I am afraid that I may blame some others for
the tricks I played on words, my friends and brothers.
I am afraid that I may shift the war,
that hangs above our heads, on others.

When with the people suffering grief we toy,
afraid of sharing their pains and sorrows,
behind the happy life that we enjoy
there's somewhat of a bribe palmed off upon us.

If I were the greatest man, or say,
the finest and the worthiest human being,
I wouldn't have the privilege of living
without pain - for others, anyway.

Of course, I'd like to have the best in life,
of course, I'd like to win respect and veneration,
but why the hell, I wonder, should I strive
for creature comforts, coveting protection ?

Beware of a shameful life without pain,
a life without thinking, striving, suffering ...
It is, indeed, a doubtful blessing when
you have a stroke of luck as an unwanted happening.

And if I chance to go through happy days
I'll do my best to make them gloom and shadow
so that I shake with cold, chilled to the marrow,
when hearing the flaming words of praise.

The sufferings that we invent will not
make up for other people's troubles.
When our own grieves we haven't got
we can avail ourselves for those of others.