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I am jealous

Everyday a volcano boils and simmers inside me. It is one planning to erupt but doesn’t know when and how. If I had the guts I’d talk before it is late but how should I when I occupy the dark side of your life? How should I get noticed when I am just a breeze wafting over the desert? Who will see me when I am just a candle on a massive chandelier, a spark in a bush inferno? I am jealous of they that flock your side and drink from your cup. I am jealous of all of them that take off their coats to cover you on a cold day and the hands that strive to cuddle you when night slowly creeps in. I am jealous of all of them, those knights that have a choice of horses. If you could just notice my mule... she does not run fast but she can run far. She cannot neigh to your command but she will never rebel against your wish. I am jealous, because I am that tiny star that children do not notice at night but you are the moon, the centre of the night, you are the sky, and I am just an arm of a cloud peeking from your horizon. I wish I was you, but I am not and I never will be. I am jealous though, I still am. For the smile in your mouth is not mine and the peals of laughter is not supposed to be my tune. I am jealous of you that many love and worship. I am jealous of you that knows life in the sun while I languish in the dark. I shall not lie. I am jealous of you that people see worth fighting for while I stay just to wait till your end comes. I am jealous of you, who have never known what being second means for all you have has been made first. If I could find a way to be close to who you are maybe I would not hate or choose. Maybe I won’t lose them at will. Maybe I will love till the end of the day and deep into the night. I am still jealous though, of that flower that bees and the humming bird notice. I am jealous of that great path that they all want to walk. I know that even though I am just a footpath, someday I shall be seen then they shall jostle for space on me, to just touch my dust and walk under my shadow. Maybe someday when I am a ripe fruit the birds shall show up at my tree. Maybe someday when the firewood dries up I shall make a giant inferno and they shall sit by me on cold nights. Maybe someday when I become great I no longer will have to beg, or to eat from your bits and bites. Maybe someday I shall grow tall then they shall see me above them all, and I shall be known. Maybe someday they no longer will take me for granted.

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