The Secret of the Rain
A Poem
If the rain, rivers, mountains, and viruses don’t care for borders,
why do we create this artificial separation between one another?
In its irony, the virus forces us to distance ourselves from each other.
Nevertheless, we can still try to connect through the word and the page.
And for the ones who can make love, every night and every day,
let’s hope they can keep on making it, and it spreads.
So love may be more real than the Dollar bills printing like yesterday’s news
trying to keep at bay the insecurities of the ones who only have bank accounts to account for who they are.
But we all are persons,
even the ones with the bank accounts,
even if they do not know about that.
Can we wake up now to this new reality of sorts,
make it more bearable knowing that we are one?
Each with its own individuality, yes,
but interconnected nevertheless.
Can I wake up to a country
with a surplus of bullets,
in which no one wants to buy them,
and our only problem, to dispose of them?
