To some it’s just a distant dream
like a star, that’s from above, twinkling
or a place in the outer space, out of reach
and to get here, your nose must bleed
for five hours, your nose must bleed.
Others call it the land of geeks
the place where everyone knows how to eat
books for breakfast, for lunch and for dinner
and where people, for good numbers
are willing to give blood and sweat
Some consider it the field of zombies
of monsters who don’t sleep
and who can take hours, days
of endless works and works and works
works are all they know
Many think of it as a kingdom of braggers
who boast and boast of what’s in their heads
who walk tall and proud wearing a seal
with a naked man whose arms are wide-opened,
oblating himself to his country
It’s painting is a bit of everything—a bit
of dream, of respect, of amuse,
of happiness, of fulfillment, of pride,
of sacrifice, of hard work, of pain
of envy, of disgust, of bitterness
But no matter what they think about it
two letters is still the best way to call it—
it’ll always be with a U and a P
and here, we won’t surrender, do or die
it’ll always be the sky where we fly!
