take a boat or a horse or a train or a giant air-balloon
or just your own two feet, but go
meet them.
give them your bread and your wine and your last piece of chocolate.
try the bizarre poison they call food.
appreciate the shock on your tongue
and congratulate them for the originality of their cuisine.
shout with them,
against their unjust government,
at three in the morning,
for a cause they couldn't even translate to you.
clack your fingers like they do,
then dance their dances without fear.
no one dances perfectly,
but only the sad ones care.
sit with them in silence and pray to their gods,
that their child survives this fever.
and bring a doctor there with begs and threats and promises,
until it's all right.
hide their ears in your palms, wrap their shoulders with your scarf
and rub their nose so that it doesn't freeze.
drink their boiling hot tea next to their boiling hot sand,
even though, right now, you’d rather trade your kingdom for some ice-cream.
wear their hats and pants and rainbow-colored fabrics.
then take everything off,
leave it on the floor right beside them,
and help them undress.
push and squeeze and tightly hug them.
then leave them alone to feel their own space,
then hug them again
and let their smell drown your senses.
or don't.
but please, respect them.
they are People in all the ways that you are.
______
© Dimitrios Kokkinos 2015
No comments:
Post a Comment