December 16th, 2020. A year since the beginning of a defiance that rocked the country, and the world. December 16th, 2020. Farmers turn their tired eyes and feet towards the dancing horizon. December 16th, 2020. The year of virality and dread comes to a slow end. December 16th, 2020. Imagining a better world.
I offer you a poem I wrote this morning as commentary, preceding an Allen Ginsberg song of freedom:
freedom
I dream of a world where fingers learn to form a fist
before forgetting, where the soft heart of innocence
hasn't calcified into cynicism, where every tryst
with the divine isn't flaming with the impatience
of fear. where light is truth, and darkness is drenched
in the glorious sin of curiosity and desire. where eyes dance
to the laughter of leaves. where the sickle is blanched
by the sun and the kiss of gravel and mud. where distance
is measured in dream, and time in silences. where the soaring
cry of students is an anthem, and the grass of wild plains sashay
in defiant plumage. where memory is roasted in the kindling
of palms, and future is the sound of children at play.
I open my eyes and see farmers.
students. artists. children. women.
the unfinished, untouchable and unworthy.
all surging in rebellion
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