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
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