Thoughts while meditating.
The pump’s a thief, the rent’s a noose,
We’re tightrope-walking, cut loose.
A loaf of bread costs half a day,
While they buy islands far away.
We scream at screens, at red and blue,
At which sky’s true, which God is new.
The little box, the black glass light,
Picks out our foes in the dead of night.
It feeds us hate in tasty bytes,
And sets the stage for endless fights.
It points the finger, "Him, not you!"
As if the shade of skin
Or who we pray to, deep within,
Makes a difference when the rent is due.
We squabble over crumbs they drop,
While at the top, they never stop.
The bank accounts have swollen fat,
Off sweating backs and torn-up hats.
They build the walls to keep us blind,
So neighbor fears the neighbor's mind.
They tell us lies to stoke the fire,
To keep us occupied, in ire.
But turn the phone and look around,
The common ground is solid ground.
We bleed the same when cut by knife,
We all just want a decent life.
The color of the tears we cry
Is salt and water, you and I.
The "enemy" is just a reflection
Of our own stress and dejection.
But pause the feed and look outside,
Where truth and fear no longer hide.
For hands that build and hands that pray
Are worn the same from hard-earned pay.
The silver spoon, the golden rule,
Is played by masters, cool and cruel.
They stack the deck, they rig the game,
And change the rules to hide the shame.
While we fight hard over scraps and parts,
They feast away with greedy hearts.
Don’t let the screen define the line,
The wall they built is purely design.
The real foe isn’t queer or straight,
Or brown, or black, or foreign state.
It’s not the church, it’s not the mosque,
It’s not the neighbor down the block.
It’s the hand in the pocket, deep and sly,
That watches currencies run dry.
The landlord with his thousand keys,
The boss who says, "Work until you freeze,"
The tiny few who own the stack,
While we just try to watch our back.
So put down the pitchfork, drop the stone,
And realize that we fight alone.
They want us scattered, mad, and small,
Easy to pick up, prone to fall.
But if we stand and bridge the divide,
There’s nowhere left for them to hide.
The algorithm keeps the score,
But we don't have to play no more.
Unplug the hate, ignore the bait,
Before it is a touch too late.
Our strength is not in being right,
But in this darkness, being light.
