The lost song

the lost song

the bark of a gnarled oak
the smell of fresh coffee hanging in the kitchen
deep-throated laughter rising

childlike delight
still wonder
and the urge to express

all this in his voice
but he says
‘I cannot sing’

I have heard “I cannot sing” being said so many times. I imagine stories behind, stories happening in  small class or kindergarten rooms, or at home, where an impatient adult uttered something which would stay with her, him, for many years. 
I have also witnessed the incredible change in a friend of mine, when , in her fifties, she found her song. And in others. I think only a very few people have really a given impotence to sing.

About lorianapauli

Born in Italian speaking Ticino/Switzerland. Lived all my life in different parts of that very country till I found my way "home", where I truly belong > the 'Long Island'.
This entry was posted in People of the Uists, Personal, Poetry, Uncategorized and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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