Why this bag of skin and bones?
This puppet acting out a part unrehearsed?
On a tightrope of hope, stretched above a yawning pit of despair.
Striving, yearning, trying not to fall in.
Saddled with the burden of being human.
Sometimes, it is one thing after another, after another.
Sometimes, we want to curl up into a ball,
To shrink ourselves and our problems with us.
Sometimes, the sky is gay and friendly.
But sometimes, the days are grey and dreary…
But special we are not!
Generations have borne, legions more will bear,
The toil, the strife, the pain,
The absurdity, the unpredictability, the wahala,
In this short play that is being human.
If then, we must needs perform in this tragicomedy,
let’s dance, laugh, sing, sing badly.
Revel in moments of pleasure,
Sneak in joy between times of distress.
Milk! This existence that is being human
And when, if, dark days come,
If the sad, the gray, the aches, weigh heavy,
If your heart is drifting in the nothingness,
Remember, you are one of us.
Remember, it is being human.
