The struggle !

You, who sit there,
with glazen eyes.
Waiting to hear the gems,
produced by those who stand.

Silently waiting, with the those hands trembling,
you wish to be lifted.
In peace, through the space.
As you wash away the tiny specks.
Wandering like the birds,
As fresh as the rose.
Do you wish for rebirth?
or a redemption.
Or wait for peace.

But those who are standing,
they are struggling.
With lineages hard.
They are facing the storm.
Restless and sweating,
they look desperate.
As the dust and the speckles,
they look for a direction,
every inch, every piece.
broken down into the atoms of creation.
they listen, and then put together
the larger pieces.
harmonizing with the soul,
they wave and create again.
streaks of brilliance
and smooth whistles,
followed by steps to heaven.
the music to the end.