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Poem

We are all actors in a grotesque play,
Wearing colorful masks of democrats, republicans, fascists, and communists,
But beneath them, our faces are just as pale and empty.
We dance frenetically on the stage of history, clinging to trivial principles,
Like frightened children holding onto the edge of the bed in the dark.
Rivers of blood flow in the name of ephemeral ideas,
Flags waving in the wind like the tattered rags of our illusions.
We drown in the swamp of prejudices, refusing the outstretched hand of understanding,
We prefer to sink rather than accept that we are the same in essence.
Closed eyes, bowed heads - these are our weapons against the truth.
We are masters of war, painting battlefields in shades of red,
But we do not know how to build bridges over the chasm between us.
We fear every impulse that might lift us from the mud,
For it is easier to hate than to love, to destroy than to create.
We fiercely defend our little cardboard fortresses of ego.
We grope through the labyrinth of history, repeating the same mistakes,
Seeking salvation in dogmas and ideologies, but not in our own humanity.
We are prisoners of our own status quo, fighting to remain still,
While the world spins madly around us.
When will we have the courage to throw away the masks and look each other in the eye?

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