The crisis in the middle of life of finding out that you haven’t really found what you were meant to do has a distinct fascination for me. The idea of a person spending their life doing what they are either not good at or don’t want to do or both is, to me, nothing less than living in a gilded cage – the existence fetches money, but there is always that tricky risk of the bird flying away, and getting lost.
That fly the earth.
Winds so mischievous,
They fly away my kites.
I release, the sky takes them.
Nothing’s left in my hand, nothing.
‘Haps this coin in my pocket’ll buy me
That one kite to fly with, then rest on ground.