When we’re born,
Skin the texture of bubbles,
Hair like candyfloss to the touch…
We’re like a tuft of the universe’s ponytail,
Clipped off yet precious, valued, not forgotten.
We are the scent of stardust and
Wield heavenly memory in our tiny, clenched fists.
For moments, we unleash the cry of longing for
What we’ve left behind in pursuit of the taste of beauty
That’s curtailed by mortality’s scythe.
Our eyes enter this realm in temporary blindness,
Shying away from eager gazes expecting
Much too much from our newly exposed being.
We wait to see a new slate of what lies before us,
Be it good, bad, or benign.
Our piercing scream announces our presence,
Much like a town crier’s bullhorn declaring the arrival
Of an ancient soul inhabiting a new sheath of flesh.
To balance earth and sky.
To forever juggle good and bad.
Never the neutral, for neutrality is omnipresent.
It cradles the kindling for the spark each of us carries
To fuel what has the potential to ignite brilliance, mediocrity, good or bad.
That, and the miracle that our very presence here
In this space and time is in itself against
A billion odds that could have prevented
Our existence in this realm.
Written by Frank Malaba