Plane, train and concert tickets.
Letters, messages, postcards, images, dried roses, holy cards, newspaper clippings, poems, sketches.
Snapshots, business cards, satin threads, amulets, notes.
Sometimes they stay, they hide, reappear. Resurface.
And pages of exercises in Hindi from the summer in which the more life was taking away, the more I filled it with spaces and intangibilities because these could not be stolen, removed, appropriated.
Afterward, they even stole the book I was studying on, to remind us, as if life hadn’t already taught us enough, that nothing belongs to us.
Nothing is ours except our conscience.
These pages survived, I don’t know how.
My sounds in Hindi, hung like clothes on a line in the sun.
Tibetan prayers in the wind.
At the entrance to the house, on the wall, I had written the lines of a poem with henna.
I’m sure it’s still there – if you scratch – under new paint.
They just can’t take everything.
Intangibilities
the talking of the soul 
QUOTE:
“……….as if life hadn’t already taught us enough, that nothing belongs to us.
Nothing is ours except our conscience.”
This part of the poem says it all – there is nothing left to say except……
we could answer with another poem, another sad story, a random draw from the pages of history, another burst of anger, or carry that knowledge in our hearts in silence, never to mention a word of that blatantly obvious reality….. while the crime that runs the world, the human species, while relentlessly attempting to overthrow every natural inheritance in the book, but……. if only….. IF, IF, IF…….
For an 8 billion human population to come together and create the loudest 24 hour blanket of silence across the entire world in proclamation to end the insanity……….. wishful thinking, filling a mission impossible with a voice stumbling on the walls built to keep us apart, divided, angry, and our hearts filled with sorrow…………………..
http://www.worldpeaceembassy.com
http://www.peaceisbetterthanwar.com
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