An Open Letter

To the Lord who governs o’er matters such as these,

Yes, to him, Yes! To him I beseech,
For a little good fate here and a little good fate there,
Would transform my words into entities who ensnare…
The senses of you, my holy yet guileless readers,
In some instances, even pilots, jesters, washermen or preachers…

To pay heed to my holler,
And respond in glee,
While within their hearts they believe,
They are young and wild and free…

And to verify this measure,
The Pied Piper, I accosted,
He was bemused, to say the least,
And certainly, quite affronted…

But I did exactly what my capricious heart truly pleased…

I asked him how he procured,
Magic from the skies,
That befooled these rodents,
While we could scarcely believe our eyes…

“In nature’s infinite book of secrecy,
A little I can read”**, he said,
And this particular trick up his sleeve,
I wished to emulate, on humans instead!

And, thus speak I,
To the God of my quill,
With a request to help it fly,
For words to dance at my will…

To command them to gayly hop,
And race through a gazillion pages,
To leave an indelible impression,
On posterity for seven ages…

To beckon to them at dawn,
Or at the arrival of the midnight moon,
Yes, Oh! Venerable God of my quill,
It is you I implore to grant me this boon…

That guides my words through,
An elegant ballroom waltz,
Helps it peacefully glide,
Or flip through a dozen somersaults…

Not in high school geography,
But in all the good souls’ hearts,
Who perchance encounter my humble words,
Even if we’re a thousand miles apart…

I verily do wish to tickle,
My beloved readers from afar,
Such that they roll on the floor in splits,
No matter who, or where, they are!

And maybe, even gift them sorrow,
For, what is white without the black?
It is when you’re stripped of all adornments,
That you sorely miss, the virtues you lack…

And I also wish to induce,
Feelings of love and hate,
But there’s beggary in a love that can be reckoned***
‘Tis not how you find your soul’s one true mate…

But to it, there is a remedy,
Perchance we call it lust,
The appreciation of a glorious manhood,
Or a woman’s heaving bust…

And this, Oh Lord!
Is all I ask from you,
The power to make people smile.
When they are feeling blue…

To affect a change,
When there’s fog all around,
To permit my ink to fly,
With my feet rooted firmly to the ground

To perhaps give someone hope,
When there’s naught to be found,
To ring in an olive branch,
When there’s chaos unchained abound…

To let a soul know,
That she never is alone,
For when she lifts her quill,
The world shall be her home…

**Antony and Cleopatra, Act I, Scene-II
***Antony and Cleopatra, Act I, Scene-1

Picture by Chris Liverani (Unsplash)

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