Burning Men
What does it take
To set yourself on fire,
So that your soul is not
A liar to itself,
And your life, no instrument for hire?
What does it take
To enter the nation you fled,
Knowing there’s
A price upon your head
That your heart insists you pay?
How does it feel,
To no longer be numb,
Or blind, or deaf or dumb
To the incessant beating
Of death’s drum, on babies?
What is it like to swallow poison,
But not your pride, to know that you
Will leave your bride,
Fighting for freedom, and your lives,
From a gulag, deep inside?
What is it like to feel flames melt your skin,
The way it burns those without sin,
Without hope, or relief, or shelter or embrace
To escape the bombs dropped by men like you,
Just doing what they were trained to do?
And, what is it like to feel your last breath,
Knowing your courage cannot, finally, stop your death?
But, instead, ignite other lives, more fires of hope
To burn brighter than the incandescence of yours,
Immolating our fears that wars will end all laws.
What does it take,
To step outside your being?
To find the key to freeing
Our souls, and minds, and hearts,
To know, without fear, believing is seeing.
