There is a tender sense of silence, without prayer to or from. In the moments of our own silence we are welcomed, as both stranger and friend. We need to allow this presence to be with us, not in defined moments, but as a flow. The river is here, not hidden behind the bank or crossing the horizon. In the tranquility of the moment there is no moment, nothing defined or captured. This world is seeped with the other, soaked with the dew of timelessness.
is not that I survived the war
or that I write poetry
or that I am African,
but that I live in this world
just like you.
That I wake up every morning
to get the children ready for school,
that I comb my hair
and worry about its gray,
that I love my strong coffee
in the morning...
That I listen to music
and laugh out loud
when the mood is right,
that I cry when I read the news...
What you need to know about me
is not what country I am from
or how many languages I speak
or how I pronounce my name,
but that I believe
we are connected
by the simplest thread—
the need to be seen,
to be held,
to be heard.