STRANGE By Eleni Cosma
What a strange thing it is to be alive
To walk on feet and count to five
To speak these words and understand
What it means to hold a hand.
What a strange thing it is to breathe this breath,
For air keeps me with you,
How strange it is to come to know
These things I’ve learned with you….
That the strongest prison cannot hold
A freedom that longs for itself
And a truth that is yearning to be told
Can never be left on the shelf
And the silence that rings and shouts and calls,
And the nothing, let’s not forget about nothing….
For sometimes there is nothing to say or think or do,
And this nothing is bigger than the something I knew,
And sometimes it’s ok to live in two worlds for a while
For we don’t have to take the entire lifestyle
And then there’s nothing, did I mention the strangeness of nothing?
And discipline, how much we need to be still
And strong, and patient, as we re-program our will,
And all of these voices,
Have so much to say,
Can we listen to only one at the end of the day?
How strange that this voice is telling us more,
Than all of the voices we’d heard before,
And did you know that less is more?
And how much beauty there is in that less,
If you can only count your bless- ings
In fact there are so many more strange things,
In that one, simple, silent plain moment of nothing
Than all of the somethings we have ever known combined,
How strange life is now I know what is mine,
Everything, nothing – there is no mine,
How strange that it is the old and not the new that feels strange,
Is there anything left to re-arrange,
Can we handle yet another burst of change?
I don’t know but there’s no longer a rush for the finish line,
I just sit there, waiting underneath the flashing sign,
‘’Go home!’’ It cries, ‘’you must resign…. ‘’
Once it took the form of Frankenstein,
I must commend its ability to design – itself.
‘’Just watch it’’, she said.
I did, and somehow, I feel strangely fine.