In all appearances, of course, I am a man full-grown. Then again, as they say appearances are deceptive. For in me there are at the same time: a child, a grown up and even an old man. The old man makes me think. Made old by the burden of experience and knowledge. (All still within the classroom yet). The grown up makes me ...um he makes me survive. Compete, contest, strive, to use a cliche: run in the rat race. But it is the child I like the most. He is the one that makes me want to live. Really live. To enjoy the rain, the flowers, the smell of wet earth. To watch and wonder at the industrious ants, the caterpillar, the rat even. He goes around tying rakhis for raksha bandhan. He'll send you an eclair (or better, a rose) in that first burst of youthful love. He's the one that will be optimistic about giving his heart and getting another in exchange. He is the one inside me, that really does all the living. The old man's cynicism, the grown up's ...er...grownupism - all...
The message is supreme;
Born in the heart,
and lilting itself
from tongue to tongue,
throwing its scent
over wind and wave;
travelling on dots
or fingers
when blindness
or silence bar its way.
It hews itself into stone
or burns itself onto magnetic discs;
it is the message that lives
and I exist
solely to pass it on.