Why I am not like them?
Full of vision and plans
Then, I wouldn’t be alone.
Perhaps I am a kite,
Broke free of its strings,
Which is creative and wild,
Caught on a wind of crisis
It’s not my own fault,
I was left to my own devices.
And perhaps that I why,
I stay, and I wait and I write
In a morning’s euphoria
Or discontented sigh of night.
Why did you pick me?
To be romantic,
Full inner weather and strife
Why not a Doctor, a Lawyer,
A Butcher with a knife?
No, you gave me paper
And what do I do with it?
I stain it with a pen.
So I stay, and I wait and I write
Perhaps, I will know by then.
