THE SILVERCORD

Our body is like a space suit,
Especially made for earth.
We must be sure not to damage it,
But to value its sacred worth.

Though tailor-made for each one of us
It can stand little tucks in gear
But all in all it is perfectly suited
To our task over here.

Seems we dance nimbly like marionettes,
Our emotions pulling our strings
Till the wheel of fortune tangles those strings
And a pull from above finally brings

The awareness to us
That rather than puppets
Who're dead to themselves and their kind

We are spacemen on earth
Kept in touch with home base
By that silver cord, that's our mind.

Ute Kaboolian
11-20-1983