When we ponder on our nature
What do we envision?
When we shake a hand
The sentimentalism of trust
Must we then find beauty in our vulnerability
Or find beauty in our art
Or do we find it everywhere
Encompassed by acting along with our hearts
In the divided periods of silence that create a symphony
We are inspired to love
To caress a dove
And refrain from anger
We avoid the rumbling thunder of violence
Discipline we call it
Sit then we do and contemplate
What is it that makes us human?
This beckons for language to conjure a potion of beautiful analogies
Poets heads turn at the murmur of this question even under the most timid of voices
Rejoice we do when we hear an answer
And today our cushion of appealing response is threatened
We ask the wrong question
What is it that makes us human?
Geneticist’s perk up as hairs on an arm upon breath in their ear
Sear the crust of the question
Lock in the answer
Imprison it
Because we should learn to ask a better questions
Algorithms can compose
Replicate, paint and sing
Ring our alarm bells it does
So we should come to ask instead
What is it that makes us human? No.
Humans – what is it that we make?
Then we will be reminded of the poetic origin
As magicians we pluck meaning from the air
We hide it in our fists
And open them up to share
We are conductors to an infinitely long orchestra
Strings, wind and pianos harmonise because we chose to put them in that order
Because we chose to listen to how things work
So our dropped chins can raise and we stand an inch taller
As we move into times where our creativity is challenged
True we shouldn’t ignore what composes us
Although remember that is was what we created initially that we should continue to discuss
Then we won’t make the grand mistake
If we go on to ask the right question
Humans, what is it that we make?