Window seats

pic courtesy: arpan, alan :)

(Originally published on my Medium page)

Things go smooth;
They sometimes do!
Like cruising on
Highway one-two.
Takes but a snap
To break the nap
And bring us back
To sober truths.

The view, in fact?
A tightrope act!
With people rapt
Like puny ants;
Clinging o’er a
Web of strands,
With their burdens
On their backs.

Like mongrels for
The morsels wait.
At times we must
To meet our fate.
Our love, our hate,
Our gain and pain,
E’er wonder, how
Much will remain?

The ‘lil child asks,
“Why me? Why me?”
“Who am I?”
“Pray, do what must we?”
Some spend their lives
In quests like these;
Some fold their legs
And smile in peace.

Some travel far,
Some venture near.
But glad are those
On window seats
Who see the trees,
Smell the rain,
Hear the birds,
And kiss the breeze!

0 | 2018

A journal on year Zero in my third startup journey/ life

As the last digit of this year is almost about to tumble on to the next, I thought I’d take this time to try and connect the dots I’d encountered in my journey over the past year. I’d probably be on the other side by the time I finish this longish journal. This, dear reader, be warned, is more an act of reflection than exhibition. You are, however, welcome to see what the mirror shows. Its gonna be long so you might read a bit, pause, leave and come back later to continue from where you’d left (that is, if you’d still be interested). I have tried to organize them month by month. The theme is Zero. This is what I brought to the table and reduced myself to in the hope of leaving soon with One :)

...

(Click here to read the rest of this story on my Medium page)

Stories

Image courtesy: https://pixabay.com/en/books-pages-story-stories-notes-1245690/

(Originally published on my Medium page)

We all love stories. We are stories. Some tales, we tell. Most others, we just live through, not a word being said.

Is a story just a sequence of events? At least, that’s what it looks like on the surface. But there are perspectives that we miss because we are also the actors in our stories.

Its the spectators and the audience that make an actor, at the end of the day. True, the bedroom mirror might have instilled that spark of inspiration to begin with. It could very well have been that patient spectator to the countless hours of practice that went behind the one five minute grand entree on stage. But a mirror doth not an audience make. Or does it?

I’ve often tried to imagine an exceptionally talented artist who keeps her paintings hidden in the attic all her life. She paints because of an overwhelming force of expression from within her that compels her to. Is her life and work worth naught if her paintings remain hidden forever? What if she was Picasso?

How does she even sustain herself in the first place if her work does not fulfill her basic human needs? Will she be doing her creativity due justice if she spends her days toiling at some trade that feeds and clothes her but leaves very little time for her to spend on what she is prodigious at?

I know there are a lot of people who believe they are not special. What if it’s just that they never had an opportunity to discover themselves?

Is it a rule of thumb that most mortals must remain stuck forever in the lower rungs of Maslow’s need pyramid? That only the ambitious few and the lucky few can ever reach the upper echelons? Will this equation change over time? Is this what progress is meant to deliver, someday?

If we were completely self contained and infinitely self sustaining beings, things might have been different. But the truth is that we are not. We actually live off each other. We need each other. I guess that’s why incarceration and isolation are the most common punishments the world over.

Commerce is a codification of that need. In its most pristine form, the need was to merely barter. People evolved. Communities grew. Needs evolved. Methods evolved to scale with the needs. At some point in this story, profit came into being.

And then, profit became the sole driver. Things moved on from fulfilling something that was needed, to amassing something which was wanted. Sure, there still are communities that frown upon profit in ‘cash’, but then they too end up with other gains which may not be codified in cash, but as some other phenomenon. Most stories today therefore tend to be designed for profit.

What do all these do to our stories? The new world coda requires you to tell your stories in the way it wants to hear it, not the way you want to say it. You need to know your audience before you pen your lyrics and give it a tune and a rhythm. You need to fine tune your pitch for the investor. Ensure you’re a part of a mega-trend. For all you know, you could be making the best pizza the world has ever known, but sorry mate, it’s pasta season and everything else is passe. Because, that’s the only way to profit from it. Scratch that. Many a times that’s the key to survival.

All stories take time and effort. Both of which are extremely limited resources at our disposal. Most choices that we are offered are therefore biased decisions to be taken under such a duress.

Fulfillment is the rare phenomenon that happens when the story you want to tell is the one they want to listen to.

So, as far as I can read, life gives these options- You make your story, but then spend time to find an audience that loves it. Or you keep penning your stories till there’s one that strikes the right chord. Or you simply tailor your tales to suit them in the first place.

The attempt here was not to judge the way of the world but to reflect on and acknowledge one of the perspectives on it.

But then, what happens to our stories, if the tales we tell are always the ones they want to hear and not the ones we’d been yearning to tell? Will that still be your story? Or is it their story, merely being scripted and delivered through you? Will this lead at some point, in all tales sounding pretty much like each other? Like many a *wood movie lame? Or is it that a story always has you the story teller and me the audience and that makes it our story? And that every listener imbibes within her, atleast a small part of every story she hears, that resonates within her?

I don’t know for sure, but I’d like to think so.

Meanwhile, what’s the kinda story that you’d like to tell? I’d love to hear! I hope you’ve found something, by being a part of my story by reading thus far.

You’re not broken

(Originally published on my Medium page)



You're not broken!
Even when you feel
The wounds; raw, open.

A fountain,
Blurred by subway motion,
Is just as real as the yonder mountain.

You can’t see, but
It’s the lens of this world
That’s cracked and frozen!

Fogged in the dew
Of dogged 'ol notions,
Timeless warps, mindless motions.

It’s tough to see
Your beauty, when
Mirrors are mere tokens!

You’re not broken.
You’re just detached,
From the world’s corrosion.

Reflections on being human

(Originally published on my Medium page)

We humans are a weird lot. All the other living species that we know of, subsist on, build on and die in their respective ecosystems in ways that seem absolutely ‘natural’. None of them make elaborate dwellings from materials that have undergone multiple levels of synthesis from their origins on this planet. None of them make food with multiple layers of complexity in taste, texture, aroma and nutrition. None of them wrap themselves in clothing; much less, in multi-shaped, multi-colour, multi-layered fabric derived from sources both artificial and natural blended together in what could best be described as marvels of modern manufacturing. None of them make energy beyond what their bodies produce. While we produce and consume way-way more energy than bodies strictly ‘need’ for its natural functions. All such things and more are manifestations of our humanness.

Now, many animals are territorial. They mark their territories. They do go to ‘war’ against others of their own species if they try to intrude. They go to war to expand their territories based on their need for food and sustenance of their clan. This, we have in common with the animal world. Wars. However, our wars are based more on our greed rather than our need. They are at times based on perceived moral high-grounds and moral low-grounds that our leaders choose to take up. Many animals are also extremely choosy about their mating partners. Many a war is fought just to establish the alpha identity on both sides of this divide. Ostensibly, an evolutionary trend that attempts to match the best pairs to produce the best offspring and thus the best chance to advance their clan. We humans have not lost this instinct either. But of course, over the years, we have built multiple super complex social structures in an attempt to codify this into a set of territorial rules: laws and morals and deterrents. Punishments, which fundamentally amount to banishment from this social structure into a super-restrictive and usually, a destructive one (despite their labels of being correctional).

We humans are weird because of this quirky combination where on one hand we crave to push the edge of creativity and consumption while still carrying within us some reflection of our primal animal instincts. The reason why we are what we are is because of our rather oversized spongy mound called the brain. It is designed/ has evolved to be able to make much better connections among disparate concepts based on what it learns using its senses than most other species. We also have the ability to build on past learnings by making connections among them. Most importantly, we have a sense of collective learning and are able to build upon it generation after generation. This is possible because humans have been able to preserve and pass pieces of this knowledge to other humans though speech, signs, symbols and gestures. We have even codified some of this transmission in a rather inefficient but arguably effective system called education.

It is argued that collectively, we have improved as a species. Heck, I’m recording my thoughts on a rectangular slab of carefully engineered layers of glass, silicon, lithium, plastic and metal. By swiping my fingers around. And my words are being transmitted in real time across multiple continents and oceans and being preserved as microscopic electric fields in some metal box with its own multi layer sandwich of materials, on the other side of the planet. Using energy that changes form many times from thermal to electrical to radio to light to electrical. All this, in a fraction of the time it takes to bat my eyelid! If this ain’t magic, what is? One of the many poignant manifestations of human progress.

Another simple metric that reflects this point is the average life expectancy, which has significantly improved over the recorded years.

However, one simple metric we have not adequately tracked and is unfortunately the one where we have failed as a species is sustainability. Closely linked to this metric is that of equity. It looks like what we have lost along our chosen path is the ability to think and act for the long term. It is amusing to think that our brains got the better of our thoughts on selfish self-preservation as a species by pitting us against thoughts of self gratification as individuals. Guess who’s been winning.

But this is where it gets even more interesting. The very fact that we as a species can reflect on ourselves and our actions is amazing. For instance, we know for sure now that our dependence on fossil fuels needs to end. There has been significant progress in harnessing alternate sources of energy. Evidently, such awakenings seem to happen only at the fringes of society. Most people are still comfortable in their ignorance and are gleefully oblivious of things much farther than the end of their noses. Hopefully awareness will percolate further. But will it spread fast enough and spur a collective correction of sorts in time?

It appears that we are now locked in a race against time. Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem like reversing our technological advances to go back to a more primitive lifestyle is an option anymore. We are so firmly enmeshed in technology that it is bears some resemblance to the Matrix. So, we have no practical option but to bet on the same ingenuity to pull us out that we’d used to get ourselves into the mess in the first place. Bittersweet. The escape plan seems to be to keep moving forward. But faster, and with a keen awareness of the situation we’ve gotten into and we’re capable of deteriorating into.

Hope we can fix our future in time and preserve as much of the diverse and beautifully simpler life-forms around us. That would perhaps help our future generations to have a redemptive understanding of what being human is all about.

(I had begun writing this post about two weeks ago. It’s time now for some poignant reflection as I’m about to hit the publish button, after having spent a week surviving the #keralaFloods. Have resisted the urge to edit this post for now. More on this in a separate post, some time soon)

Just let an angel

(Originally posted on my Medium page)

Smile when the road’s dark and the woods brown,
Someday you’ll look back and see no frown.
Cry if you must but with none around,
Lest your tearspill a near one drown.
Love someone with your guard down;
Trust is the stone that builds this town.
Dance with abandon, on the sea sand;
Let the waves wash your footprints bland.
Soar as high as an eagle flies,
All that you’ve built, you’ll see: are toys,
And when you slip and fall flat down,

Just let an angel pick you a crown.

Was is

(Originally posted on my Medium page)

Patient,
On a table.
She was
A doctor.

Injured,
And out;
He was
The captain.

Hunted
In the haunts
It roamed
As the hunter.

Shredded,
Glam mag
And made
Confetti.

No lights,
No bells,
No farewell
Thoughts;

What is
Had just
Become
What was.

The animal inside?

(Originally posted on my Medium page)

Its a shame to say,
“It’s the animal inside em!”
Yes, animals are wild,
Some with claws, thick hides;
Some prey, some hide,
Some protect their pride,
But scarce can their brains,
Match men’s evil inside;
Deep oceans of vice,
Under crusts of thin nice.

Leave the poor beast,
Blame the human inside!
We’ve too much to lose,
And no place to hide,
When the sleepy leviathan,
Takes a stroll outside.
Millions have vanished,
We’ve seen genocides;
We’ve heard of brutalities,
Against the girl child :,(

But then we grow callous,
We get numb and hide.
The next day beckons,
With its proximate cries.
Gosh! We gush;
Pretences puerile!
Soon the next wild human,
Rubs it in again.
And we chant as if an anthem,
“The animal inside em!”

Yesternight at nine

When my mind is fooled by my own disguise,
Should I then believe what I see through my eyes?
Life’s an illusion, I do realise;
Mirages of mountains, treading thin ice.

The journey seems pointless, lead by a mere whim,
Staring at a haystack, seeking the pin!
Trying to be cheery, while weary within,
In the land of no fantasies, dreaming is sin.

Who has the answer, to what lies beyond?
The puppets keep dancing: pulled by the clown.
The king stays alive on his puny lil pawns.
The queen waltzes sideways. The horses go down.

The road that's less taken, sure does sound divine,
Tempting like a good old chilled bottle of wine,
Growing like a cancer, you'd hope was benign.
My ship left the harbour, yesternight at nine.

Foolproof

A good teacher once said, that between choosing to express myself versus keeping quiet merely out of the fear that I might say something ‘wrong’; I should always favour letting it flow. The sheer weight of living with a regret for the rest of my life she’d said, would just not be worth it.

Anyways, thanks to that lesson; I’ve made a fool of myself so many times now that the fear thereof does not inhibit me much these days. I’ve had my fair share of failures, rejections, disappointments and despair. And I’ve had my uber moments as well! It took me some time though to realise that she had intended it not as a licence to be impulsive and indiscreet but rather as a mature expression of a considered conviction. So if that means I might find myself in a muddy morass more often than not, as long as I’m aware of what I’m getting into, well, so be it!

The key, evidently, is to somehow survive them all. By clinging on, at times, to nothing more than a faint foggy vision of a scraggy peak beyond the valleys we find ourselves in. Trust me, it’s much less fun living in the plains anyway! In the end, they say, that what doesn’t kill us only makes us stronger.

As contrary as it may seem, making a fool of ourselves a few times over, might actually be the best secret recipe for becoming foolproof. Each time, life teaches us to be a bit wiser and helps us smile a bit wider at our sheer vanity.

Life trips!

My worst foe and my best friend,

In my head they’ve made their dens,

Will I lose my mind or find my zen?

Life doesn’t answer to my pen ☺,

I don’t know why and I won’t know then 😞.

---

A million stories await being lent,

To a thousand journeys- a life well spent!

A hundred miles sure has its bends,

But this I know since I was ten,

A trip never started, has no tale; no end!

The Thorn and the Rose

The Thorn and the Rose. Two creative expressions of the same plant.

While one is literally poignant, the other is elegantly convoluted.

While the elegance of one is temporal, the poignant other seeks permanence.

Indeed, its the thorn which protects the plant while the flower attracts all harm.

Yet, the flower gives the plant its name while the thorn draws disdain.

The Rose, beautiful as she is, carries within her, seeds to new life, despite being destined to die, dry.

Not every Rose may spawn another! She still remains, just as beautiful, as any other.

The Thorn has his place too. Always in attention. Weapons drawn. Ready for action.

Always in attention. Weapons drawn. Ready for action.

Always in attention. Weapons drawn. Ready for action. Sounds boring? It is.

The Rose always takes the centre stage. She swings and sways to every breeze on her way.

Oft hypnotised, a hand reaches out… but gets a finger pricked instead!

Damn! The Thorn. Yes, every Rose has its Thorn :)

It could’ve been me

Four women,
And a girl barely ten,
Scavenged for the leftovers,
Behind the butcher’s shop,
While I paid for the choicest cuts;
With banknotes, crisp and new.

It could’ve been me,
On the other side.
And for them,
Just another hot summer’s day.
While I gathered my heaven
In a ragged jute sack.

I saw a mother,
And her little child,
Wait to gather the milk,
Spilled over in the crate,
While the milk van unloaded.
And I bought an ice-cream tub.

It could have been me,
On the other side.
Facing hell each day,
While they prayed,
To keep them safe,
Till Thy kingdom come.

Didn’t pick my birth,
Couldn’t twist my fate,
Predict my health,
Or dodge all baits,
What this life gives,
We take. We make.

Yeah, it could’ve been me,
And it could’ve been you.
The privileged few
Feeling entitled to
The cards that we’ve been dealt;
Acting as if we know our bets!

It could’ve been me

Four women,

And a girl barely ten,

Scavenged for the leftovers,

Behind the butcher’s shop,

While I paid for the choicest cuts;

With banknotes, crisp and new.

It could’ve been me,

On the other side.

And for them,

Just another hot summer’s day.

While I gathered my heaven

In a ragged jute sack.

I saw a mother,

And her little child,

Wait to gather the milk,

Spilled over in the crate,

While the milk van unloaded.

And I bought an ice-cream tub.

It could have been me,

On the other side.

Facing hell each day,

While they prayed,

To keep them safe,

Till Thy kingdom come.

Didn’t pick my birth,

Couldn’t twist my fate,

Predict my health,

Or dodge all baits,

What this life gives,

We take. We make.

Yeah, it could’ve been me,

And it could’ve been you.

The privileged few

Feeling entitled to

The cards that we’ve been dealt;

Acting as if we know our bets!

The Thorn and the Rose

The Thorn and the Rose. Two creative expressions of the same plant.

While one is literally poignant, the other is elegantly convoluted.

While the elegance of one is temporal, the poignant other seeks permanence.

Indeed, its the thorn which protects the plant while the flower attracts all harm.

Yet, the flower gives the plant its name while the thorn draws disdain.

The Rose, beautiful as she is, carries within her, seeds to new life, despite being destined to die, dry.

Not every Rose may spawn another! She still remains, just as beautiful, as any other.

The Thorn has his place too. Always in attention. Weapons drawn. Ready for action.

Always in attention. Weapons drawn. Ready for action.

Always in attention. Weapons drawn. Ready for action. Sounds boring? It is.

The Rose always takes the centre stage. She swings and sways to every breeze on her way.

Oft hypnotised, a hand reaches out… but gets a finger pricked instead!

Damn! The Thorn. Yes, every Rose has its Thorn :)

Life trips!

My worst foe and my best friend,
In my head they’ve made their dens,
Will I lose my mind or find my zen?
Life doesn’t answer to my pen ☺,
I don’t know why and I won’t know then 😞.
A million stories await being lent,
To a thousand journeys- a life well spent!
A hundred miles sure has its bends,
But this I know since I was ten,
A trip never started, has no tale; no end!

Chasing mirages

Waiting for the night to wake up to a dawn,For the morning mist to make dew with the lawn,To glimpse the chirping thrush, strut on the ground,As the curious squirrels, scurry around.

Simple pleasures that now are rare, less found;
Lost among chores that seem far more profound,
And honourable jobs that buy our good days,
With promises to pay big soon; Someday.

Out to change the world, make a dent, we say,
Held firm by the charms of the silicon sway,
Eyes mesmerised by our shiny screens,
Mind skips to savour the flavours in our meals.

They say, birds in the sky neither sow nor they reap,
The flowers in the garden, need no chiffon and no crepe,
Yet, they live, fly free, are more beautiful than we,
In the best of our garbs ever can be.

Midnight. It’s time again to fall asleep,
The charm of the dream still strong bitter sweet,
There are bills to pay and promises to keep,
But you hear a soul somewhere silently weep.

Then slumber arrives and the body rests,
While the universe conjures our next day’s tests,
And again we’d miss a beautiful morn,
Chasing mirages ever since we were born.

Frames

Painting by Arpita

Oh, these frames on our walls,
Windows into worlds beyond.
Snapshots in time, of our thoughts,
Raindrops in oceans of droughts.
Of tales that were told with a drawl,
Stories played out to enthral, 
A child’s first crawl.
The first pencil scrawls.
A holiday snap.
That infamous nap!
The baby at peace on her mother’s lap.
In million hues, monochrome blues,
Sepia tints and pastel hints,
Moments, dreams, pains and gains,
Captured in myriad enraptured frames.
Luring every peek into a gaze,
To moments gone by; hung in space.

(Originally published on Medium)

Unequal lives

Implicit Equality is one of those concepts that get drilled into our formative minds. The world around us however, seems to teach us the exact opposite. Slowly, we conform and accept our place under the sun. Sure, there are rebels and there are those who gladly abdicate; but most people, sooner or later, simply fall in line. The line is neither straight nor fair.

Don’t get me wrong here; I do wish for a world where all are equal. I’d only like to acknowledge my realisation that the truth is far from what I’d wished it would be.

I’d also like to be aware that it (mis)leads us to think that equality implies sameness. Very often, we therefore also expect everyone else to be like us.

Should the implicit equality tenet then be questioned? Perhaps rephrased? Maybe; just to open our eyes to a world that is a riot of colors! Infinite strokes in infinite hues. Non monochrome. Perhaps we should be taught instead that the only thing that is implicit is that all are different, and rightfully so!

On the other hand, it is important to remember the context in which a statement like ‘all men are created equal’, was made (gender bias notwithstanding). It was a time when people of a certain color were subjugated and exploited (way worse than it is now). It was a powerful statement to remind people that despite the differences, all were entitled to equal opportunities, choices and dignity. Liberty! It is also a grim testament to the fact that as humans we are prone to exploit, given a chance.

Let me now focus on the second word from the title of this essay: ‘lives’. Life. In primary school, I vaguely remember being taught about living things and non-living things. Stone? Non-living. Tree? Living. Human? Definitely living. Dog? Living. Mosquito? Living, yes. Would a growing, learning, energy consuming, and reproducing humanoid robot from the future be counted as ‘living’? Not sure? But that’s extreme, you’d say.

Another example: Leaf. Is it a living thing or a non-living thing? Some say, if it is attached to a live branch, it is a living thing. When exactly does life leave a leaf? The instant it gets detached from its branch? Surely its cells continue to show signs of life for a long time after its detachment. Perhaps then, the leaf is dead but its cells are not until they get to a state where they have nothing further to do with the rest of the cells in the leaf?

Life sure is mysterious. If ‘life’ essentially is that one force that is all around us and even within us but we have no comprehension of, it is implied that it is ‘precious’. (By human definition, the rarer something is and the harder it is to be manufactured and understood, the more is its value. Therefore: precious. Diamond? Precious. Sand? Abundant. Cheap. Potable water? Precious.)

However, we humans have also developed compromise mechanisms to conveniently diminish the value of life (which is fundamentally wrong if something is an implied truth) where beneficial. Ant? Can be squished under our toes. Chicken? Can be killed for food. Dog? Whoa man, have some shame! Ok, cabbage? Sure; chop!

Here’s another example. Soldier’s code. Foe? Kill. Friend? No kill! Collateral damage? Shit happens.

Interestingly, Jainism is an ancient religion with its roots in India where its monks really go to the extreme to ensure that not even the tiniest of ‘living’ things (with jiva, soul) is harmed by them ever, not even by accident! Respect!

In following this discipline Jain monks may be observed treading and sweeping in their temples with the utmost of care so as to avoid accidentally crushing crawling insects, or wearing muslin cloths over their mouths in case they should accidentally swallow a fly.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/religion/religions/jainism/

However, for most of the rest of us who are not in that elevated plane of existence, the truth is that all living things are inter-dependent and have tofeed off other living things to survive. Now, accepting that eating plants is fine while eating chicken is not fine is acknowledging the fact that all lives are not equal. Or even that eating chicken is fine but eating X meat is not fine is again a manifestation of the fact that the notion of ‘equality’ is a non-linear and complex interpretation by a set of human brains, nothing more, nothing less.

Food aside. What about rich and poor? Are rich lives equal to poor lives? Is the value of life of the head of the largest conglomerate equal to the life of the poorest beggar on the street? Is the value of life of a head of the nation equal to the life of a soldier who stands in the battlefield? If they are equal, they must be treated equal no? If not, we must acknowledge that their lives are not equal.

What I am tending to conclude therefore is that all lives are different and unequal, but all aspire the same dignity and respect for what they are; whatever their relative size may be.

Respect for the tiny insects that pollinate our plants and get swallowed by the birds. Respect for the birds. Respect for the fox that eats the bird as well for the part it plays and the character it holds. Respect for the soldier and respect for the president. Respect for the white skinned and respect for the colored. Respect for the woman and for the man. Respect for the different men and women :) That’s perhaps our best bet as tiny creatures roaming on a tiny planet circling around tiny star, among million such stars in a galaxy, among millions of such galaxies and things beyond…

Some choose to chew on leaves and some on meat. Let both be thankful and appreciative of the beauty of the life behind each morsel in their mouth.

Life is beautiful. Lets celebrate its differences. The line between use and exploit is thin and we tend towards the latter. Let’s be conscious of this as well.

What in your opinion then should the principle be? What flaws exist in my reasoning? What should we teach our children such that we don’t sound like hypocrites? Do think and share your thoughts.

My song

Past slow streams, and paddy plains,
A gentle breeze, the drizzling rain,
A blue-bird tries catch-up in vain,
To a soulful beat, my rocking train

Back ten years, my numb mind panes,
A time that sure no more remains,
Had no money and had no pains,
Nor plans beyond the morrow made,

When music was the sole refrain,
And dreams my waiting soul had gained,
To love, I was not yet ordained,
Just longings that were best contained,

In the sleepy city, along the drain,
My good 'ol car, on a narrow lane,
Driving with the rolled down panes,
Humming a tune the radio made,

Next to me, the guitar he played,
My fingers drummed on the wheel splayed,
On a sharp high note, our voices strained,
In my head they'd still remained!

A thousand miles about to end,
Round the last corner, the rail-road bends,
Draws up to the station almost spent,
In my notebook, these words I pen:

If there'd be something that I could ask of life,
That'd be to make music when the sun shines,
'Cause when the night falls and darkness stays,
While I sleep, I'd hope my song still plays.

- A
V