These Words
Trickling, shifting, tearing apart a, collision of brick sand and dust
Taking the form of a death sentence, as they pile upon her- She is the mother in Haiti
These words are for the mother in Haiti
Racing through the sticky tall dead grass, running, running, running away as they get closer, her freedom, her liberation taken away from her even before she is kidnapped- her heart already taken, her safety and comfort stolen, as memories of nameless, faceless cowards are piled upon her and steal her innocence..- she is the girl from Uganda
These words are for the girl in Uganda
Where the light breaks through the darkness of shifting shadows
A little boy sits at the bed side of his mother, torn, dismantled, her lifeless body taken-taken-taken for no reason- His is the story of the little boy in Rwanda
These words are for the boy in Rwanda
Its really dark out, the rain is heavy, not a storm, but his heart is heavy, praying that this night wont end, and wont call him home…he flees continues to go far, far, far- where they cant get to him- the journey from the mountain left him tired- searching for the medical supplies, searching for type writers where they will record for history why they fought- His mother is restless and waiting, when will this stop, when will my baby stop needing to be the revolutionary- when can we stop being afraid of the raids, and disappearings- he gets to a gate,lightening and thunder roar- This is the story of an 18 year old boy, a revolutionary from El Salvador- who changed my life.
These words are for the boy in El Salvador
These words are for the man I walk by every day, to busy to stop, to selfish to care, -what was his name? as he looks at me, face to face, gazing at me- looking for life, looking for a sign of hope, of reality that is not what makes him shiver at night, and leaves his stomach empty…as the days go by…his name left in the past, with the successful university career, and the family that once knew him.
These words are for the man in Hamilton
Her history is present on the lines of her face, as she tells me the story of a young school girl forced to live her life in a culture foreign to what her destiny calls of her. Taken from her parents, taken from the land that calls to her every time she looks to the sky. “My people don't forget” she says to me, “we are the Yanomami”
These words are for the Yanomami elder in Venezuela.
Now these are not just words, not only letters on pieces of paper or
rhyming patterns these are not just stories told or heard - these are
realities, realities that we continue to ignore
These words are for you, let them change you, let them creep in to your
heart, let them get under your skin, let them move you into action,
don't let these words get drowned out ,allow yourself to see that your reality is connected intertwined like
knots, like links, like chains to the reality of those around you
These words are of hope, of freedom, of the realities, faces and
places that have inspired me to remember, to know, to be and to do!
Generations have come and gone, Martin Luther King Jr. came, Oscar Romero came, Mother Teresa came, Ghandi came- these words are for the little girl in
regent park listening to the 'I have a dream' speech, wondering when the
Martin Luther King Jr. of her generation will show up.
These words are for all of you who are listening as your heart pounds
as these words penetrate into your soul, as these words will leave you
restless because you know you are the generation that will be Martin Luther King Jr’s
dream- don't be afraid of your reality, let these words become light
posts, that invite you into who you truly are.
These words are for the little girl, who often wondered why she
rather listen to El Salvadorian war stories than to play with dolls,
these words are for the girl that holds the world in her heart and
wants to share it with you, these words are for the girl that knows
she is no Martin Luther King Jr, no Ghandi no mother Teresa, no Oscar Romero, she is more broken, more weak, and more fearful- but she knows she can change the
world.
These words, are what carry her...
Hope
Justice
Love
One, but its just one Word that I bring, that I carry
One Word that drove me to be vulnerable, open up my heart, spit out my
fear and open up my arms and ask you to join me!
Join me to allow her not be the Haitian forgotten, the Ugandan
disappeared, the Rwandan orphan, the assassinated El Salvadorian the
unknown Canadian, the misplaced Yanomami Venezuelan!
These words are for them, let them change you. I dare you to try and
forget them now.
