A dangling conversation

A poem from a hidden place

Like being there when Caesar was stabbed

Or feeling sympathy when your enemy died

The price of freedom is

Love on the edge of oblivion

Like being there when Gandhi cried

When integrity was maimed

A collection of foreign thoughts

A response to what was said

Like being there in ’45

And feeling for the dead

You never need to apologize for who you are. So don’t.