My days taste
Like all of our yesterdays
Combined, I rise,
Pour hot coffee from hot pot and
Talk to a God
I do not believe in.
When He does not reply I
Look for answers within myself,
Meditating.
In stillness I grow strong.
Greedy eyes are blind
To the powers they
Cannot own.
The wind will not listen,
It eats all our screams.
But still, you whistle
And expect it to
Come running to you.
I cannot fight the black hearts,
Their uncaring eyes feel not
The light of the fires
They ignite.
But still do not call me
By a name of no power.
For while the war lords,
Busy counting their piles of gold
Forget the names of nurses
With bruised faces
And tired eyes,
I will put my grain
In the belly of my neighbour.
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