In whirlwinds of dreams, where silences dress in whispers

In whirlwinds of dreams, where silences dress in whispers, I urge you to steal from the night fine grains of darkness, To lay them in raven feathers, gathering divine secrets, And to spread the torch of light over hearts deaf and blind. I urge you to carve from words new echoes for dead souls, To mortgage with butterflies, in their dance, all the mulberry leaves, To buy tears from those forgotten, rejected, lost in love, And to bring solace to your doorstep, to each abandoned child, wronged. I urge you to share your cloak with those deprived of freedom, To bear the world's injustice, like Jesus, on your back, To be silent alongside Anne, caught between cold walls, And to cross horizons in the arms of forever disabled grandparents. I urge you to be patient with the old man who seeks his dignity in a cane, To empathize with the hunger that begs for a little kindness on the streets, To offer the bowl with broth, in the cemetery, for those who have passed into non-existence, To pity the hearts that know only the garment of misunderstanding, distance. I urge you to tax the morning grass with dew, to discover how clouds flee, To wing the plough, to light the lamp for the lost, to no longer hide, To confess your sins when you can't commit them, to drink comet's milk, To sell your love to the unlucky one, to fall madly, completely in love. This is my urging, wrapped in magic and melancholy, A poem that crosses the spectrum of humanity, with its goods and ills, Urging compassion, courage, to dare to love, To be light in the darkness, to open your heart, to simply be your best self.