Creation’s call

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By Pranali Gurav

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I am burdened with the enormous duty to write, to paint, to compose, 

To express and voice a million echoes. 

From those who ponder and then abandon their thoughts, 

To singers who sing but keep their melodies in cloistered forts, 

To poets who pen verses only to crumple and discard, 

Your omission is duly noted, doing so dear creators you have charred many shores. 

You believe your voice holds no sway, that it's drowned in the noise, 

Yet such thinking commits a grave, unforgivable ploy. 

Your stride, though just a step, can inspire a marathon's run, 

You stir the cauldron of existence, under the same shared sun, 

Yet, in your modesty, you doubt the worth of your creation, 

Not realizing its potential to shape the world's narration. 

I think it began when "we" gave way to the selfish "I," 

Rendering contributions redundant, stifling ideas that could otherwise fly, Thus, the world took on a shape devoid of romantic hues, 

As creators turned away, their talents were left to diffuse. 

But each of us holds within a bout of thoughts waiting to be shared, 

Our perspectives, emotions, creations, raw and bared, 

For we are not mere mannequins, passive and still, 

But fragile souls, capable of both pain and thrill. 

Our vulnerability grants us the power to create, 

So it's a grave injustice to let thoughts stagnate. Express, create, let your talents unfurl, For in our shared humanity, lies the beauty of the world.