You
I feel there is a song waiting to be sung
by a bird waiting to be born,
and all of us will recognize the tune
as the harmony that will set us free.
Because we too are in a cage
watching the trees from our windows
instead of climbing them and breathing.
We are barely breathing, hardly alive.
Saying hello in our fake voices.
Trying not to cry when the theme song
of our lives plays and we can’t remember the words.
Because after all, who wrote it, who wrote us?
While we all play our parts, the music doesn’t stop
to ask us our names or remind us why we should sing along in the first place
And when it is time to dance
I hope you forget who you are and become the beat with your body.
There is no right way to move, but I hope you move anyways.
There is life and then there is the song we sing about it, after all, there is a difference between what’s real and what we feel about it.
So where is our truth and why is it hiding in a room with no windows that we hardly ever visit? I would like to see us living in better conditions. I would like this party to have a point. You wear the costume so well, can you even imagine taking it off and standing naked in front of yourself? Can you hear yourself singing a solo? Your anthem has yet to be heard, we are waiting so we can all sing along.
nina