What You were born to do

I imagine you – picking

one-after-one-after-one

the scattered matchsticks

from the greasy floor,

crying over your luck

in a suburb

in some tiny apartment.

For this

was not meant to be your fate.

These were

not the activities

you thought you were born to do.

You were

meant for something colossal.

Something mighty.

 

Something like,

Lighting a matchstick

when everything else has dissipated

and endeavouring to light

somebody’s pitch-dark ignorance and

keeping up the rhythm of lightning

one more and more and more

whilst your fingers begin to singe.

 

Look around!

There’s light

(even if only a speck).