‘Who am I ?
what is my calling?’
said the girl all of nineteen
‘the existential angst plagues each human’
the girl observed gravely.
The mother kept quiet wondering
did I provoke too much?
did I prod and probe where it hurts?
the desire to encourage can sometimes be detrimental
the urge to awaken can sometimes irritate.
The junk food lover nodding to western beats
was wiser beyond her thoughts
so the mother sat quiet in awe of the thinking teenager.
The telling or being discreet.
The love, the hate, or both being excessive.
The beauty or the lack of it.
The freedom or the imprisonment or the love.
The dirt around or the exquisite cleanliness of it all.
The growth of the mind, the body, the conscience or the absence of it all.
The humor or the seriousness of it all.
The over flow of energy or the vacuum
The exemplary art or the artlessness
The praise or the critique or the criticism
The hunger, the pain or the pleasure
The company or the absence of it
What is it that offends
What is that piques
Those that rejoice in taking offence?
I wouldn’t know.
How beautiful is it to sing
to be able to lend music to your voice
to touch a heart or two
in verses that may not yet be yours
how divine is it be blessed so
with a voice that plays on a string or two
of hearts one or more
how gifted are these
that know to pitch a song
in tunes that are perfect to ears
how soothing is it to hear
the melody of the soul
blessed are those that sing
pouring heavenly manna
into parched lives.