You wanted something real.
And you found a quite place.
You looked over your shoulder, but not ahead.
See, it’s ok though.
See, what you get.
We are here to protect.
Your path leads you right now to where you are.
Yokohama Station, the door opening, people streaming out like rain.
I stand and look in, will I sit or will I stand?
A foreign woman looks at me and smiles.
Behind my face mask, the white woman sees her kin.
She raises her hand as to high five.
And through my jacket she touches my skin, gives me a tender, yet short kiss, as she leaves the train.
She has no mask, dressed in leather and black.
Passing quickly, leaving me baffled, I take a seat to ride home, on a Corona emptied train.
the kiss was metaphysical, but felt.
My heart is moved with your changing mind.
Let me come in, please, and witness your prayer.
Thank you for your welcoming heart.
I rejoice in your warmth.
History we share.
Pain and joy we dealt.
Hope resides in these halls.
Love flowers within this walls.
We are still capable of endorsing life.
And within our severed faiths we speak a universal language.
After listening to a feature about Jewish life in Iran, it’s long long history and the fact that Iranians start to refuse to hate Israel. It’s a faint hope, but it is good to remember Jews, Christians and Moslems all pray to the same god and follow the same prophets. And it was fascinating to learn, that Iran culture had influences on Jewish, Christian and Buddhist faiths, even before the Prophet Muhammad walked the earth.
I need to remember,
Words meant to console,
May well be
And I did not know, I could like you so much.
Feel close when the distance is still wide.
When I saw you, I saw an old friend in your eyes.
As if, remembering you from a past life.
Do not thank me.
I simply exist.
In this space.
In this time.
Where our paths are crossing now.
Rather, thank yourself.
To be brave to live one more life.
Move and feel and see.
Only brave souls live in this time with open eyes.
Being around you makes me a better man.
Learning from you is a truly great experience.
For all the curiosity I feel.
When we part there is a new memory.
The possible is laid bare by the things we deem impossible.
And the impossible is a celebration of the things we do anyway.
A priest stands, smile, nods.
A friendly word here and there.
It’s Sunday. 4 hours earlier he woke to “Owner of a lonely heart”.
And woke the whole family.
I am 6 years old.
Imagining what it’s like to be respected like this.
Not knowing the hate and fear flying in his face every day.
I imagine being like him.
Not knowing the fight he fights for my future.
Not yet understanding the brutalism of the regime we live in.
But soon I will be called pig son of the pig priest.
Soon I will draw a robot eating weapons when we write lyrics about the great national army.
And not too long after that the system will fall with the wall.
But until then, my father impresses me.