Today, I am thinking about you,
like most of us, you had no aerial view,
and you marched out,
for what you believed in.
Whether with understanding
or the possession of open eyes,
I do not know.
you thought freedom would carry you
would be left in your boot tracks.
Or was it just that
the blood was up,
you saw a free fix to a reputation,
or had pure desire to bring pride to your mama.
Yours was a drama few are remembering
in a war that seems to mean nothing.
only to hearts who lost you.
And perhaps as a faint statistic to someone far away
who sells steel and news paper
and other raging things.
You are done and gone
free from delusion or glory or righteous zeal.
You have received your reward.
Today, I am thinking about the hearts that hold you.
Holding on to a future
where some earthly justice
To freedom beyond these politics
that will one day scream from
the soil where you fade with decay.
To your babushka.
She has been tempted longer than most to believe in meaninglessness.
Every market day, she jostles her way into a trolley bus with her sack to sell of fruit from her borrowed soil.