A Warcry

It felt bad when I couldn't grow a huge beard - fairly genetic
But hey, other men in the clan were just fine
If felt bad when I couldn't keep up with younger musicians
It felt good that I knew anyway thanks to your harmonium and mandolin
I felt exhausted when you acted crazy or when the quiet wasn't peaceful
But also like a phantom with invisible feet stuck close to the ground
It was you - I felt blessed if not God-like

The 30 a day and the three of us; yet who can pay you back?
Who can be you? Everything feels like a joke with that thought
Your love for books, medicine, music and yourself is and will be
You must have loved yourself - how else do you remain unique?
I want you to know you not only survived but also did well
Though 10 percent you is enough to lose sanity
Indulgence in one's resources makes one filthy rich, you practiced