When a dictator dies…

I cannot be curious or excited

when it feels like tourism from someone born on the privileged end

of a TV remote flipping through the news channels

I cannot pray for or on behalf of a people

when the sentences keep ending with “new markets for capitalism”

I cannot ask if one is from the north or south

or east or west

when a border does not define a human being

I cannot use the term dictator

When dictator is a term we only use to label our enemies

who were sometimes our friends before they were our enemies

I cannot wave justice like a flag

when I believe I can find it in the full of a body bag

I cannot act in a peoples’ best interests

when my best interests sound like too many screaming in silence

I cannot muse about what this event means for my life

When I do not know the desperate alchemy of trying to feed a family

I cannot be one drum, one pair of clapping hands, or one jeering mouth,

I cannot celebrate death

ever

I cannot be afraid of what the next man will do, or what country will rise

when I have questioned into the hollow of that logic time and time again

And love is the only thing

that has ever answered back

“stay whole”

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6 Responses to When a dictator dies…

  1. linda says:

    you make me want to make more of an effort. hope you’re well, blesse

  2. Jade says:

    couldn’t have said it better.

  3. Sunny says:

    i found your blog through a friend and i have been reading your other posts and I just wanted to let you know that you are incredibly eloquent and your posts are thought-provoking and moving. keep on posting 🙂 i’ll continue to follow and read diligently!

  4. Pingback: The death of Kim Jong Il « sahngnoksoo

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