“A Poet called” [Intro — spoken] Ring… ring… “Oh, hello?” “Ah… a poet on the line.” “Shakespeare.” Click. “To be, or not to be…” ⸻ [Verse 1] The question walks into my room like it has been here before. William Blake. “Tyger Tyger, burning bright…” And suddenly I wonder what we call beautiful when it has teeth. Emily Dickinson. “Hope is the thing with feathers…” Funny how a little thing can keep us breathing. ⸻ [Pre-Chorus] Different hands. Different years. Still they leave their questions here. ⸻ [Chorus] How did you know? How did you see what we still don’t understand? You wrote it down and disappeared— but somehow you are standing here. How did you know? Maybe you didn’t know at all. Maybe you just listened when the world was quiet. And wrote down what you heard. ⸻ [Verse 2] Edgar Allan Poe. “Once upon a midnight dreary…” You made the darkness sound almost beautiful. Oscar Wilde. “We are all in the gutter…” And somehow I can hear you laughing. Because maybe being human was always a little ridiculous. Goethe. “Whatever you can do or dream you can, begin it.” So here I am. Beginning. ⸻ [Pre-Chorus] Different voices. Different scars. Yet somehow they aren’t so far. ⸻ [Chorus] How did you know? How did you see what we still don’t understand? You wrote it down and disappeared— but somehow you are standing here. How did you know? Maybe you didn’t know at all. Maybe you just listened when the world was quiet. And wrote down what you heard. ⸻ [Bridge — spoken / layered] Rilke. “You must change your life.” Change. Walt Whitman. “I contain multitudes.” Multitudes. William Shakespeare. “All the world’s a stage.” A stage. William Blake. “To see a World in a Grain of Sand…” A world. And I— I’m still trying to understand the one inside me. ⸻ [Break] Ring… ring… Another poet. Another century. Another sentence that shouldn’t still hurt. Click. But it does. ⸻ [Final Chorus] How did you know? How did you see what we still don’t understand? Your names became history. Your words became something more. They crossed the years to find me here. And suddenly the silence disappears. How did you know? Maybe you didn’t. Maybe that’s the beauty. We keep asking the same old questions— and every generation writes them differently. ⸻ [Outro — whispered] Ring… ring… “Oh, hello?” “Who is this?” A pause. “Someone who has something to say.” Click.
