a poem by Juliana Philippi
As a hurricane batters Louisiana and moves up north, fires rage in the West Coast.
Refugees plea for help and mercy across the ocean, and by our back door.
Dying children invade the infirmaries on every corner of the Globe.
Where does it leave us, the young and the eager, the ambitious with no Covid fever?
Humbled.
It feels like defeat, sadness, and a lack of excitement as we wake up in the morning. No glory, no promotion, no famous contract to boast of.
Perhaps.
Yet, with the cup of black coffee on my lap, I take a deep breath, and watch the bees zoom past,
my flowers bloom,
the sun shine, and the sky loom, high, high above me.
Humbled is the word.
The World has finally begun to lift the veil of richness, or category of First, Second, or Third World tier…
Rubbish and in the bin that goes now.
We are just One world, together now.
We will fall or rise, together, moving forward.
Humbled, but honored, it is our time to build our new motto.
What will it look like, who will come ahead?
All I really want, is to just say,
“I helped make it heard”
