The lamp I grabbed on the long walk home
Glistened in the night’s light.
Smudge after smudge gathered up,
And I could not resist to rub.
Of course,
A genie appeared.
WIth no fear or cheer I asked
For my wishes—
Which is tradition.
Of course.
What shall they be?
What do you need?
I hadn’t answered
For what seemed to be weeks
Before
He came begging for more:
What is your wish?
What do you want?
I wholly don’t know,
But needn’t reveal that here.
Many years passed before he cast
Out his question again.
Only this time I’d find
An answer for him:
I wish
To know what I want.
I thought but never told.
All hope would go
With my last breath unspoke.

The genie remains chained to my words.