Painter of the Sky

I saw him standing on the edge of that cliff,

painting the sky black,

shielding the light from above,

cursing it into calamity, and

calling all the poisonous seeds to grow, and

to destroy hope and love remaining in our soul.

All nations -

good and evil,

golden and silver,

believer and the infidel -

are scattered,

refusing to be united and

succumbing to solitude.

I thought

I could paint the sky again,

recoloring it with the beauty of hope and joy.

I thought

I could paint the sky again,

Recoloring it with the words of my mouth.

But

What a wonder would it be if I,

someone who cannot even cover the sky with the palm of my hand,

try to be the painter of the sky?

I thought,

I just thought…

I could…

while hoping that

scars would be healed and love would be spread

when the aroma of the spring

kills him, who is at the edge of the cliff, and

restores this land of oneness,

where he, who smiles laboring, finds peace in the crowd,

and

I wish I would…