Sometimes me, sometimes you
Talk about us or others, that’s all we do.
Is there anything else out there that’s worth much more?
Talk about villains and heroes, gory and glories galore?

All it takes is perception, a focused thought, a point of view
The power of thought given to all, but only used by a few.

I see a young lady with a child, begging on the streets,
She’d walk up to me and ask me to show grace with green notes.
I’d contribute but take something in return…an inspiration.
An experience to write about – her pain, her burden, her strength to survive.
I know not her name or where she comes from or where she goes.
I may never see her again, but in moment’s exchange,
My perception is momentarily hers, as I write for her, these words.

Days go by countless in numbers, nothing fantastic or awestruck
My heart yearns for more, why talk about plain villains and heroes?
Where are the words for the common man, like you, like me.
We deserve words imprinted in time, for generations henceforth to know
We are all special, equal and yet this is true, read of me, of you.

My perception, my writes do not necessarily depict me
The irony lies in the fact that it could be you, it could be me.
I write for those who write not, who’s feelings are deep
For those who work all day and all night and forget sleep.

I wish to spin the world with a word,
Only in fairytales does it all happen.
But the innocence in me, the child in you,
Hopes for a better day, am I not right?

Why hope, I say! Why not change it today?
Of what whims and fancies do we all crave away?
I write for you, I write about them, I write and write
I never get tired because I know I will live to see
When butterflies and rain drops quench the deserts.
By seeing the world through my eyes,
Because when I write I see through your eyes…
My perception mixed with yours,
The best of both elements, to change this world.

For those of you who cares less what’s happening,
Touch your heart and tell me, would you show grace
To a young woman with a child begging, both starved
In rags and no place to call home? If you do contribute,
I know, I see through your eyes – perception is but a word.

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