Still kid, I wore the masks of my book heroes,
unable to take the difference for real,
Whatever role I played, I felt I’m zero,
Compared to the idol of my dream.

I tried to be a bard, a fool, a preacher,
an alchemist, a charmer of the words.
Before I learned that God’s my only teacher,
I tried all and found that I’m not worth.

Not a hero, not a doll,
Not a wanna-be-them-all,
Just a body chasing soul,
Scribbling poems in freefall.

But since I learned that I don’t fit their stories,
I want to be myself, and yet, the Whole,
My idols broke apart and all their glories
Turned out to be just shards of my own soul.

All heroes done, what’s left is I and God,
all corners of the Earth we vagabond,
we sing for bread, and, getting older,
more often lean on other’s shoulder,
more often cry on other’s shoulder,
some day we’ll die on other’s shoulder,
we’ll lie in earth, still touching shoulders,
and then we’ll rise…
we’ll truly rise…
we’ll rise to pat each other’s shoulder!