Off in a land where bluebells grow
Where snapdragons run wild
Where grass is blue and sky is green
Which changes every mile.
The land is known as Kharmantou,
A joyous place to be.
For it’s citizens are instruments
That speak with melodies.
The finest of the orchestra
Call this land their home.
From violin’s soft music sweet,
To the tuba’s rumbling tone.
But far in a rundown shanty
In the corner of Kharmantou,
Lived an instrument, less impressive–
A tiny plastic kazoo.
His color was bright, his sound unique
And he practiced the whole daytime through.
Yet still all the other instruments
Scoffed at the little kazoo.
“PLASTIC he’s made of!” Sang the harp.
The piano chuckled,”His sound is so silly!”
The trumpet could only laugh bitter tunes.
“If I sounded like that…someone kill me.”
The little kazoo just hung his head
“Someday I’ll make them all see.”
So he practiced non stop, all the day through
On his scales and his harmonies.
One day in the land of Kharmantou,
The whole town seemed to be stirred!
The grand Composer sent a decree
For everyone to be heard!
The Conductor composed a piece so divine
It could give an audience chills.
But only one could play the piece.
The one with the finest of skills.
So the musicians raced back to their stands.
The sax, the viola, the flute.
They sharpened their skills and played through the night.
For no moment was Kharmantou mute.
When the day did arrive the musicians would try
To play the Composer’s grand song.
The instruments gathered over the hills
In a line nearly four miles long.
The Composer listened to all of them play
But shook his head with a sigh.
“The rhythm is wrong, it simply won’t do.”
When starlight covered the sky.
Depressed and annoyed the instruments sulked
Sitting around the composer’s abode
When all of a sudden the kazoo they saw
Hopping along down the road.
“Good luck!” They scoffed and chuckled.
“He won’t even know the right key!”
But the little kazoo tinkered along
Til he was inside the entry.
The kazoo wandered in where he saw the man
Shrouded low in his chair.
“Is it too late to play your grand tune?
You can sit and listen from there.”
The composer saw him and then straightened up
From his previously sunken state.
He gestured to the music on the stand
And said “it is never too late.”
So the little kazoo stood upright
And played each note and then paused.
He turned around and silently left
When all of a sudden, he heard the applause.
He turned back to see not just the Composer
But many instruments too!
He broadened his vision only to see
Every instrument in Kharmantou!
Astonished he cried tears of great joy
With blurred vision he could see
The composer approaching with open arms
All the kazoo could ask was “Why me??”
The Composer smiled and dried the kazoo’s eye.
“This was my most fine composition.
All others came and failed to play
What you did with dead on precision.”
“You see, little one..when I wrote the piece
I wrote it so just you could play
This divine piece of music, orchestrated for you,
That no one else could do the same way.”
“So this is the part that you will play
And others will play theirs, you see?
For with everyone’s talents, sounds and skills
You are my grand symphony.”
“Understanding who you are is critical to your success and happiness.” In a world that is growing increasingly confused, knowing who we are is a crucial step to being successful. By having a knowledge of a something more than this life, it gives us purpose in our daily meanderings. We no longer simply float along in the moving currents of life, but we are able to think, reason and achieve with a long-term goal in mind.
Whether we believe that this world was created from stardust or by a God, understanding and knowing that each and every person on earth has a place and purpose will bring the most joy into our lives. We are all here with a journey, finding our soil to rest in and to plant our roots. So let us be kind, for together we are a symphony.