Little one,
I must confess.
I have no means
to chart your path
beyond this hearth
of our collective lives.
When you are ready to fly
you must,
be your own compass.
There is no prayer,
no sermon or chant
that can be your anthem;
For your heart will move,
to songs
of your making.
There is no divine light
that will shine the way;
for it knows not
the course
that you will decide to take.
There is no person–
god-like or clairvoyant,
who knows you better,
than the voice
deep inside your heart.
From this home,
you shall gather
bits of us–
colours, eyes, music
and nose.
But your journey,
that, will be your own.
Make sure
you pack your bags,
knowing the weight
of worldly possessions.
Your compass,
on the other hand,
will serve you well,
because it is indeed,
free & feather light.
— Ma
