An original lyric on ordinary living. Maza Virangula, 18 September 2026.
Life is the kettle that learns your name before the morning has a face. It is the shirt you button in the dark, the bus that comes, the bus that does not. Life is not a speech. It is a glass of water set down beside a sleeping child. It is the unpaid bill folded in a book, and the page you still turn after it. Life is the street that keeps its potholes and still carries you home. It is the neighbour who asks, Have you eaten? and waits, as if hunger were a secret worth keeping. Life is the laugh that arrives too late in a room that has already gone quiet. It is the apology you practise on the stairs and never quite deliver at the door. Life is not a prize for being good. It is the work of being here: rice on the plate, rain on the tin, a name called twice from the other room. If you ask what life is, do not wait for a temple to answer. Hold a warm cup. Hear a late train. Keep one small promise you can keep today. That is closer than any slogan. Life is the walking, not the map. Life is the breath you did not notice until it asked you, gently, to begin again.
Maza Virangula