Desire for peace is nothing new.
It has always been there
shimmering under the heavy blankets of history
paling in insignificance
as being heavy-lightly stepped upon
by the boots of the young soldier who is yearning for victories.
Sinful us, we have not been so much aware.
-We are used to war…you told me once
I love hearing your story of peace.
I make a talisman out of it
so that you feel
your story was worth telling.
And I wonder…
What kind of language does your memory speak?
What are the weapons of peace, my sister?
Oxymoron!
What is the smell of peace, my love?
Can you tell me?
Or better…
can you dance it for me?
Can you dance me the smell of peace?
What are the weapons of peace, my friend?
Our ever-born kindness,
our neighborliness,
our yearning for connection and community,
our nests of healing and repair,
our thirst for harmony and happiness,
the co-creation of the boundaries which stitch our differences?
…following the breaking of them once more with tenderness and love?
-We are going to bud them again, don’t be scared…you told me once
What are the weapons of peace, my brother?
A paradox!
Maybe…our new learning “what I practice, I become”.
Desire for peace is nothing new.
It has always been there
shimmering under the heavy blankets of history…
And now?
Now, I love watching you making it a practice,
for all nightingales swarming out of my chest
taking refuge in the warmness of the South
away from homelands laying in turbulence, hopelessness and dust
wanting to be reborn…
…in peace.