It’s a Small World After All

I am a giant in the singing world.
A person with Pavarottian talent.
Everybody wants me to teach them,
to talk to them,
to be their friend.
I seldom have time for myself
so any time I do get I grab and guard jealously.

I wear sunglasses when outside
so I can pass by unnoticed.
Money is happily given to me by
comunities wanting to spend their free time
in my presence learning the intricacies
of singing from me.

Singing will always be my joy,
my reason for living.
The spring in my step but singing
and teaching someone how to sing
are two different things.

There are only so many times I can sing
certain songs before i can’t stand
them anymore.

I dream of being a new person again.
That person with the new music bag,
diamond treble clef pinned to it,
sharpened pencil poised and ready,
greedy for any gem of advice
I throw at them.
They sit in the front row waiting
for choir to begin.
For me to begin.
They came over to tell me they read my book
and had always wanted to meet me before
they found their nearby perch.

The bliss of singing an unknown melody.
That feeling of being washed by warm waters,
buoyant and afloat.
Taken underneath and across
to the other side unwillingly.
I get that feeling less and less.

Now i take people with me.
I am not free.
How I wish I could start again
with everything in front of me.
How I wish I was unknown.

Young.

Unseen.

Small.

But recently something wonderful has happened to me.
A new one has caught my attention.
They do not sit in the front row.
They are not caught up in my fame but
accept that is who I am.
They sit and sing or scribble with their pencil
as I teach,
They stand more comfortably in the singer’s pose so music flows through them.
Their octaves are widening.
Their lungs are expanding and strengthening.
Best of all is the happiness shining from their face
as they sing, lost to the world.
Caught up in the music but not in me.

They sang at their first concert yesterday.
They came to see me but had to wait
for the admiring populace to go
who wanted to shake my hand.

They gave me a poem they had laminated
written by them called
‘After the Curtain comes down’.
They had poured their soul into the words
as they poured their soul into the singing.
The poem shone with pride and love.

Life is good and the world is renewed.

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