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Fifth Internationale - Allen Ginsberg

December 16th, 2020. A year since the beginning of a defiance that rocked the country, and the world. December 16th, 2020. Farmers turn their tired eyes and feet towards the dancing horizon. December 16th, 2020. The year of virality and dread comes to a slow end. December 16th, 2020. Imagining a better world. I offer you a poem I wrote this morning as commentary, preceding an Allen Ginsberg song of freedom: freedom I dream of a world where fingers learn to form a fist before forgetting, where the soft heart of innocence hasn't calcified into cynicism, where every tryst with the divine isn't flaming with the impatience of fear. where light is truth, and darkness is drenched in the glorious sin of curiosity and desire. where eyes dance to the laughter of leaves. where the sickle is blanched by the sun and the kiss of gravel and mud. where distance

is measured in dream, and time in silences. where the soaring cry of students is an anthem, and the grass of wild plains sashay in defiant plumage. where memory is roasted in the kindling of palms, and future is the sound of children at play.

I open my eyes and see farmers. students. artists. children. women. the unfinished, untouchable and unworthy. all surging in rebellion



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