It takes too much to cry, I feel. There is this world you built around yourself, it’s perfect, with all your values and your principles, it’s secure with your comfortable thoughts and although fear creeps in now and then, you know that you have something to fall on. But what if the wall you were leaning against and the world you built around you crumbles and falls at your feet? What happens when there is nothing and no one you can call out for. It’s this loneliness that has crept inside me, it’s like a fear you’ve never tasted before, it’s spicy on the tip of your tongue but you instantly know that it’s going to burn you as it goes down.
It’s not often that I feel this way, I’ve always been more than I needed to be, more responsible, more courageous, and more strong and for a long time, it’s really worked for me. To look at the world with the eyes of clouds, far away from the crowd, but somehow closer to everyone. It’s been a good view, I have to admit. There is rain sometimes that accompanies me, and the wind bringing me the news from far away, It’s been a good time so far, living but living for myself.
But then they fight, they bring out their guns and bombs – in their clothes, they look scary – an army of the confused, the bewildered, and the broken. They break the borders that they built themselves, they destroy the cities they ate in, the rooms they made love in, and the people that were once a part of them. This is what bugs me, the glorification of the past and the amnesia of pain. They forget the blood that they made pavements upon, they don’t fear the past, neither do they imagine a future, all they do is fight, like dogs led astray, like bulls left to kill, like wild cats looking for prey. But I wish to cry for them, like a lover thinking she could change her man with her love, like a mother who hopes her son runs back to her, like a sister trying to stop her brother before he overdoses, and like the daughter who quietly wishes that her father caresses her with love. But I can’t, you see, they won’t let me, they stop me because of the boundaries they put me in, they assume that I think the same as the people that rule over me. This is not freedom, this is an obsession with submission and they want this. They think that I don’t know, I don’t know that they are bad, like I haven’t met the skeletons that they hide in their closets.
But you see, I do. Their intentions are not different than the people who sat in their chairs before them. They think they maintain balance as if they walk on a rope high above in the sky, but they don’t. They don’t maintain or run shit. All they do is heat those chairs, feeling important and known as if everyone looked up to them. But I laugh at this thought. Do you know what I feel sorry for though, I feel sorry for the people, I feel incomplete without them, they are not aliens to me you see, they share the same bodies, the same thoughts, the same feelings, and the same fear. I wish to look in their eyes and see the browns, blues, greens, hazels, and the black that hides within them, they would know that i stand with them, that i know them, and that though we didn’t share the same dinner table, I was sitting in the same chair just hundreds of miles away
And this I wish everyone felt, they felt love and compassion, I wish they feel the importance of what millions feel. That they connect, not with the land but with the heart.
