What is a baby without a caregiver to look him in the eye?
What if the baby had been brought up by a pack of wolves?
What is a woman without a baby and a man,
To hug and be hugged?
What if the woman is in solitary confinement?
Is she a sight brave or sad to behold?
What is Emily Dickinson without her legacy of poems?
What is Helen Keller without her life story?
What is Mother Teresa without her slump in the slums?
What is a man making his way in life,
Without someone to talk to?
Will a wordless dog, a curt passerby,
A speechless bystander do?
What is Jesus without John?
What does the mocking gallery,
The baying in the bleachers,
To the fallen gladiator do?
Think of his Momma,
His children,
O, all so far away and long ago?
What is a writer whose gift is not received?
Who is Gaugain that he threw his life,
And his paintings, away?
What is the performer who plays to an empty hall?
To whom does the owl to-wit-to-woo,
A melange of melancholy and bellyful?
Is it to the moon as a pantunnaire would write?
Or is he seeking a mate for his soul, if not the night?
What is a book without an author,
Who is Brigitte without Roger,
Bardot without Vadim?
Does the tree in the forest falls,
If there is no Karam Singh Walia to report it all?
What is God without Man to scribe Him?
What is the girl, okay, woman,
With the killer looks at FB,
If this verse is not dedicated to her?
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