The Ache
Etched into the walls of our nations
Into the stark white of headstones
And the cold steel of ebony bracelets
Written into the stories of our hearts
Our hearts so weighted
Weighted with grief and limping forward on the shoulder of hope
Waiting
Waiting for the day when other nations
Will also collapse at the foot of our graves in tears
Run their fingers along the names etched in the walls
Offer an embrace so telling that no language barrier could cloud its meaning
Waiting
For the day when we as a nation will deign to do the same
When our tears will water their soil
When our ears will open to their stories of torment and suffering
When we will emerge as the co-carrier of burdens
When we will be the ones to dig ourselves out of the chasm of unjust injury
So we might unveil the most formidable task, the greatest need of all:
To build the Everest of Healing
A towering mountain of love and forgiveness
That will dwarf the charred remains of empires’ constructed elitism
That will break through the clouds, spilling the warmth of sunlight on our uplifted faces
As our faces and our hearts together behold one, single, monumental, unified goal-
To carry each other to the summit where we can stand as one,
Planting the flag of all nations, made from the patchwork us
Where it can flutter freely in its place in the heavens-
Whispering the word as it floats softly down to earth…
Lifting the smoke from the ruins
Resting atop the walls etched with grief
Wrapping its hope around those folded over the headstones
Strengthening the ragged sinews with each aching beat of our hearts
And covering the world with its unwavering promise of redemption:
“Peace.”
-M.C. H.
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