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Tweet tweet my birdie, tweet

Sweet sweet my birdie, sweet

 

When your heart does beat

For the love you meet

Give her your golden seat

She’ll be at your feet

 

Tweet tweet my birdie, tweet

Sweet sweet my birdie, sweet

 

Night night birdie.

‘That girl over there… you see her?’

‘Yeah, what about her?’

‘They broke the mold after making her.’

‘Yeah, I see what you mean. But you know what I think, I think a mold is broken every time a woman is made?’

‘Yeah, true.’

‘How about us, you think we each had our own mold?’

‘Nah,  I think they kept using the same old one over and over again’

‘Papa, what can I be when I grow up?’

‘Anything you want, my son. But please do not be a preacher, or a lawyer, or a politician.’

‘Why Papa?’

‘Because I don’t want you to think you’re better than others, and I don’t want you to lie, and I don’t want you to have enemies.’

‘So you don’t like preachers, or lawyers, or politicians.’

‘I like them,  I just think they talk too much.’

‘So what can I be?’

‘You can be a creator and you will help people with your work. You can be a teacher and you will teach people something new. You can be an artist and you will make people happy with your art.’

‘So creators and teachers and artists are better than preachers, and lawyers and politicians?’

‘No, I didn’t say they’re better. But their work is more helpful, and they talk less.’

‘Papa, I’m confused.’

‘Ok, just remember this.  Work, not words, keeps life going.’

When the spiced kulfi of India, becomes the fragrant bastani of Persia, becomes the aromatic bouza of Levant, becomes the fruity gelato of Italy, becomes the tangy sorbet of France, becomes the creamy ice cream of England.

Become one big bowl of frozen desserts with different flavors, colors, aromas and textures.

Just like us people.

 

Who says writing is easy.  It’s painful.

It’s painful conjuring up emotions, beliefs, inspirations.  It’s painful finding the right words, rhythm, style.  It’s painful cutting out words.  It’s painful letting go of a piece.  It’s painful waiting to find out whether people like it or not.  Oh, it’s all so, so painful.

But you know what’s much, much more painful?

Not writing.