New York Marvel

NYPL IngeVandormael

Photo: Inge Vandormael

 

Marble walls in carved glory

Hold

A marvel,

Home

For words

No longer

Kept

Small

But shared

With all.

 

 

Note: This fantastic photo was taken by my talented friend Inge Vandormael, at the New York Public Library building on 42nd Street and Fifth Avenue. Click here for some of history.

For Cee’s Black & White Photo Challenge: M or N

 

Dignified

light

Lighted path (Photo credit: unknown)

 

 

There’s ennobled a path

For each person

Who strives

To live life

Reverently enough

To keep all

Dignified.

 

 

For The Daily Post

Willy-Nilly Trouble

rollercoaster

V2, Ohio

 

When the world appears to lose an axis

And takes a haphazardly dive toward a

Wannabe regime,

It is high time to hold steady

And unequivocally confirm,

That racist hate and violence

Reflect the morally infirm

While equality and compassion

Are what’s truly supreme.

 

 

 

For The Daily Post

Day of The Girl

Speak up for every girl.

For every woman, child.

For those who never had a say

Or book, or pen in hand.

Speak up for every girl

Who was shut up from choice

For every girl whose culture robbed

From future full of hope.

Speak up for girls who have no school

Who’re married before time,

Who men control with fear and pain

In violence, man-prowl, crime.

Speak up for every woman, child,

Trafficked, sold off, bound

For every one who’d been demeaned

Silenced, pushed around.

Speak up for girls who do not earn

Fair wages for fair work

Speak up for giving girls a voice

For futures they can mold.

Speak up so no more men teach boys

That women can be groped.

Speak up so no more women believe

Such men cannot be stopped.

Speak up for every girl who thinks

No one will care to know

Who worries rape will be about

Her face, her clothes, her fault.

Speak up so every girl

Can have a safe return.

From classrooms, boardrooms, wells.

So every child is free to be

To write, to talk, to tell.

Speak up for women everywhere

From girlhood throughout life

For mothers, sisters, neighbors, wives.

Speak up.

Speak up.

Speak up.

 

malala

Malala Yousafzai

 

 

Deep Down, There is No Difference

each other

Because a baby

born

is all human potential

bundled

into hope.

Because a smile of open joy

is recognizable

without the understanding

of a single word.

Because the tears of pain

bleed heartache in all languages.

Because no outward space

or god or faith

bestows on some

more air to breathe

or right to love

and caring growth

than to the babies of others.

Because indeed

deep down

and in all the places that matter

there is

no difference.

compassion1

The Language of a Smile

smile

This may be cliche to some, but not to me. I’ve seen it. Many times.

Just the other week, I saw a group of children–preschoolers–play at the airport, in the space between gates with flights departing to globe spanning destinations.

Some among the handful of kids spoke different languages, and none of them knew each other until a moment prior. 

Nonetheless, there was a long wait to be had, a few empty water bottles, a ribbon to pull, and play-ready age-mates to pass the time with. So they found a way. Their giggles filled the space with the ripple of childhood joy that knows no borders, religion, nationality, language, tradition, or race.

The children babbled to each other in their own respective languages, understanding not the words but at the very least enough to go on playing, to take turns, to get a notion for a silly something that sent waves of hilarity through the lot of them …

Adults sat nearby, keeping an eye on their child with a little less wariness of each other, now that their young ones felt so at ease. After all, these were just children playing together: they were not political statements or status symbols or religious flagships. They did not carry burdens of group-mentalities or dogmas or beliefs. It was okay to just be. To share a moment. And a smile.

For the adults, too, smiled. A careful, half-lip smile, weighted by whatever notions and knowings, history and worries adults often have for those they do not know and whose language they don’t understand. A half-smile it began but it grew warmer when eyes met following a child’s antic, a cute gesture, a silly face, a giggly laugh.

Like the children, the adults smiled the same smile in every language. Or rather, they smiled in one language–the one we all recognize and know by heart. The language of humanity. The language of a smile.