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what doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger

even in the grip of the twisting vine

even in the time of great sorrow

and when pockets are filled with lint

and the cupboards bare

fruit must be for the soul

picked from the tree of hope

pruned by the axe of optimism

we must run to feel the sweat of laughter

and share the rope of binding

to come out of the darkness unscathed

wrapped in the fabric of civilization

for these are the days of false promise

spat from the lips of suited men

flush with the bounty of ill gotten gains

torn from the flesh of the innocent

and so we must rise

rise together

and in the hands of youth

and in the dreams of infants

we find the sacred path to freedom

retake your home from the oppressors

lift yourself from the grey whipping mire

and in this your salvation

waiting with open arms

to be kissed with the passion of lovers

too long stilled by separation

so now born to feel the quickening

astride in the race to run

a ticker tape shower for your victory

to wash the salty crust of disillusion from your bones

and now be born so light

as a feather on her way

drifting down from heights unimaginable

to fist the burning strike

we cast you out

oh hideous politician

we strike you from our field

banished to spin your web

alone with your own kind

in the madness of some dark abyss

far from the eyes that matter

far from soft hands and true souls

for they are the eyes of the world

and they see your coded bile

spit from your pursed lips

now we retake the pulpit

our sermon to unwind

and in this spark of words

food for thought will grow

to bring about the ship

and mend the leaky hull

this is our restoration

and a promise to us all

we will not live in your shadow

so step out from our way

or feel the spit of fire

that will burn your fast decay

-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari  5/11/12