The Word

A pen appeared, and the god said:
"Write what it is to be
man." And my hand hovered
long over the bare page,

until there, like footprints
of the lost traveler, letters
took shape on the page's
blankness, and I spelled out

the word "lonely." And my hand moved
to erase it: but the voices
of all those waiting at life's
window cried out loud: "It is true."

And the god asked, "Is this what it is
to be man?" He waited for a reply.
And I looked down at the single
word, the letters stared back at me,

"lonely," as if wanting to be added
to. I raised my eyes from the page,
and my lips moved but did not
utter a sound, but the god understood

them to say "yes." And the god
looked down at me, a single
man, and I stared back at him.


(NOTE: I was a co-writer of this poem.)