Zen For Beginners

The family was split, brother engineer, me artist,
I took after mother who smoked a Du Maurier at tea-time
on a sunday and showed me her water colours,
made her own clothes including my Fair Isle pullover.

My brother camped in his small room churning out
academic qualifications while I went in search of girls;
Phaedrus warned me that I should think of inner spirit
instead of philandering, I said who are you to tell me.

Who was he to judge between romanticism and classicism,
when his students had laughed at his silly narcissism;
more importantly, I carried inner dimension better
than he, who lacked persona, class and mystery.

So who was this Phaedrus purporting such ideology,
a classical man, maybe the person I used to be.