Is it possible to be, simply, black and white in this kaleidoscope world of colors?

Is it possible to be, simply, one low note while others are scales, trills, and melodies?

Is it possible to be, simply, a quiet dandelion amongst meadows and bouqets and heady fragrances from roses and lilies?

While all others dance and run and climb mountains, if I stood still long enough in this one spot,


Would I disappear?

Simply sink into the ground, becoming nothing but two sky-blue eyes, watching curiously. Shyly. Quietly.

If you are a colorful play with dancers and arias and drama and laughter,

I am a still black and white photo of a single raindrop

glistening on a common leaf,

lingering over the ground,

Caught at the moment of hovering and wondering whether to remain still and shimmer before disappearing into the air,

or whether to fall

                       and fall

                                 and fall

to the very core of all things,

Where somehow notes and colors and flowers and running doesn’t matter as much as,



This poem is about: 


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