The Paper Boat

I looked at my hands,

they were clean, empty, and dry.

I remembered when they were stained

with the black ink of a school pen

and the wet mud of the monsoon rain.

I am a man of character now,

carrying a leather bag and a heavy phone.

But I am starving for the boy

who could make a universe out of a cardboard box.

No status can buy back that cardboard kingdom,

no empty degree can teach me how to laugh

at a falling kite again.

I squeezed my eyes,

tightly pushing my palms together.

I wanted to feel the grit of the playground sand,

to hear the whistle of the wind

before it learned how to carry the city’s noise.

I was a new life then,

every morning was a fresh page,

not a deadline or a debt.

I sat on my porch today,

watching the rain wash the street.

I didn't run out to play.

I just stayed behind the glass,

loyal to my responsibilities,

firm in the cage I built for myself.

I realized that we don't grow up.

We just forget how to find the toy

hidden inside our own hearts.

A new life is not ahead of us.

It is right there,

waiting in the rain we are too afraid to touch.

Stay firm in your art.

Stay loyal to the child you were.

The universe is still a playground,

if you are brave enough to get your hands dirty.