My Sixth Sense

Listen.

To the boys at the end of the street.

To the soft breeze

that conducts the crickets

into a musical frenzy.

Listen.

With your heart, your mind

and your hidden wings.

Watch.

The girls that run

to catch the bus to school.

The world that goes on,

the kids who play,

the parents who argue and

the grandparents who silently sing.

Watch.

Observe.

Look

past yourself and your worries.

Smell.

The fresh baked bread,

the sizzling pork,

the grilled vegetables.

A wave of smells that remind you,

of your home

of your culture.

Of yourself.

Smell.

The spices.

The world.

Feel.

The bark of an ancient tree.

The rough bark, the sharp leaves.

A tree of your childhood.

That you forgot, like everything else.

When you grew up.

Feel.

What you missed,

when you moved far, far away.

Taste.

The crunch of a cookie.

Sweet melting chocolate,

hidden away in salty dough.

Yum.

Taste.

The food no one else can cook,

except for your mother

and her secret recipes.

The five senses.

So powerful, they build up everything around you.

But for me,

Words.

They can create anything.

Even the five senses.

Words.

Power in their own way.

My sixth sense.