Continuing the poetry thread (how else to capture the full range of beauty and insanity of our times?), with a nod to my tribe, the music teachers.
WHAT ISSA HEARD
Two hundred years ago Issa heard the morning birds
singing sutras to this suffering world.
I heard them too, this morning, which must mean,
since we will always have a suffering world,
we must also always have a song.
- David Budbill
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Whereas the world is a house on fire;
Whereas the nations are filled with shouting;
Whereas hope seems small, sometimes
a single bird on a wire
left by migration behind.
Whereas kindness is seldom in the news
and peace an abstraction
while war is real;
Whereas my words are all I have;
Whereas my life is short;
Whereas I am afraid;
Whereas I am free- despite all
fire and anger and fear;
Be it therefore resolved a song
shall be my calling—a song
not yet made shall be my vocation
and peaceful words the work
of my remaining days.
- Kim Stafford
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