Our Anthurium Like Heart

All races give out rays of light
Under a sun that rises for everyone
And stars that shine brightly for everybody.

And what about the plants, the trees?
Same too, you see, they appeal to all of us -
We’re just different colors, sizes, & shapes
Different types of body embodiment.

The ocean rests there, extending itself till horizon
For the eye of everyone who surrenders to beauty
And for those that mesmerize at the miracle of life.

And then it dawns on everyone, everything
As our tears look alike like diamonds
That cascade down on those cheeks of us
While our Anthurium like heart blooms in same soil.

I would tell you too of the beauty of our variances,
Of all these mysteries that make us up
And of that blood like magma that streams in us -
That unfortunately erupts oftently, with ache and hate.

I don’t hate you brother, I don’t hate you sister -

My whiteness, my blackness, my yellowness, my redness,
My coffeeness, my greenness, my contrasts, my uniqueness.

I don’t hate you brother, I don’t hate you sister -

My querness, my disabilities, my loveliness,
Our weaknesses, our weaknesses, our weaknesses.

I don’t hate you brother, I don’t hate you sister -

We are only one tiny drop in that ocean of life,
Making one member, linked, linked.

And when I finally go to rest, I return to our ocean, mingling as one.

I love you brother, I love you sister.

/

If you see the uniqueness, if you see beauty, if you see intelligence, if you see the richness, if you see the love, in everybody else, then you’ll be beautiful, you’ll be intelligent, you’ll be rich, you’ll be loved, you’ll be unique. These are the magical words I silently repeat everyday in my head - that one law of attraction that I try to practice, though how difficult it is.

Perhaps I am the leaf, perhaps a bud, or the root, that holds on firmly to a stem. Or perhaps a hand, a finger, a tiny cell, a little bacteria - a function of that one body!

I think that the anthurium plant is an interesting metaphor to describe the human race . . . don’t you think so?