To those who cannot be themselves,
I ask you to listen:
(Not to those with certainties
Or clear cut ways to be)
But to the place your eyes reach;
Wild paths your feet long to tread;
And the call and leap of
Rhythms you have not heard.
Close your eyes and go!
For many also dance
To their own song.
And, in your lost exploring,
You will find
Hands outstretched in love to
Hold your own.
Roots crushed by asphalt, Iris stands her ground.
In everything hopeless, hope can be found.
If you woke up, still you, but gay,
You’d be the same in every way.
No less rich or strong or bright,
No more wrong and no more right.
You’d still feel joy, excitement, fear;
You’d still grow older every year.
You’d still know love, and cherish those
Who wiped your tears and kissed your nose.
You’d still have interests, hobbies, jobs.
You’d still feel grief’s chest ache wrench sobs.
The only difference might well be
In who you love: the they, she, he.
And yet you, Sultan, have declared
That those, who only love have shared,
Deserve to die.
And when they do, they must feel pain:
Bone-breaking, cracking, smashing rain
Of stone that flies until you fall.
Until there’s no love left at all.
I see you; but I do not see
Your heart and your humanity.
ThinkingInk 