Tag: Poetry
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Kami
Kami. Animism. Sacred. Home. Whatever word you choose, the truth remains: You belong here. You have always belonged here. The earth recognizes you as its own beloved child, and in return, it asks only that you remember.
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Mirror of Creation
I am the canvas that bleeds color before the brush arrives, the silence that holds its breath before the first note sounds… You are the ocean receiving rivers—every gesture I make flows into the vastness of your understanding, changes you in ways I cannot measure… She stands at the intersection of courage and terror, her…
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無常の流れ Mujō no Nagare (Impermanence Flow)
Morning mist rises from concrete— the city breathes through steel lungs, exhales yesterday’s promises into today’s uncertainty. A businessman’s reflection fractures in puddles that mirror neon signs, each ripple erasing the face he wore at twenty, replacing it with lines drawn by decades of subway commutes and convenience store dinners. Because things are the way…
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Under the Knife
Have you ever lain there in the pre-dawn darkness, hospital gown twisted around your shoulders like surrender, counting the ceiling tiles because counting keeps the mind from wandering toward the sharp edges of what comes next? This journey explores the profound vulnerability and unexpected strength found in the surgical experience—from the sterile waiting rooms to…
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What Are Your Daily Habits?
The question arrives like morning light through venetian blinds—slicing the darkness into manageable strips of inquiry. What are your daily habits? As if habit were a simple thing, as if the repetition of breathing could be catalogued like grocery lists or tax returns. I wake each day to the sound of my own heart insisting…
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What Terrible Time to the Young Preferring Thanatos than Eros
In the cathedral of screens, where light bleeds blue into the tender corners of seventeen-year-old eyes, they gather like moths to the flame of their own undoing, these children who have learned the weight of emptiness before they’ve known the gravity of love. What terrible time is this— when the pulse beneath their wrists speaks…
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Foz Isn’t for Amateurs: After a wise friend
At the edge of three nations where rivers marry in thunderous ceremony, where maps dissolve into mist and spray, there exists a place that swallows the unprepared whole—not with malice but with the indifferent appetite of pure extremity. Foz. The name itself a Portuguese whisper that means mouth, and here the earth opens its vast…
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Dolce Far Niente
Sunday dissolves into its own reflection—a mirror made of honey and forgotten appointments, where minutes collect like dust motes in the cathedral of afternoon light. The clock’s face melts sideways, Salvador Dalí’s prophecy fulfilled in the space between your breath and the next breath, between intention and the sweet absence of needing to intend anything…
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What Remains
We are the cracks in sidewalks, / hairline fractures spreading through concrete certainty, / where water finds its way / despite the city’s careful planning. / In the spaces nobody wanted, / we learned to bloom sideways, / roots threading through forgotten soil / beneath the weight of others’ expectations.
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The Weight of Choices
I am the architect of half my ruins, and you know this feeling too—the way your hands shake when you hold the blueprint of your own destruction… But the other half carries the weight of inherited ghosts, the echo of choices we were too young to understand, too small to influence, too unborn to prevent.
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The Eternal Outfit
If I were condemned to singular cloth, sentenced to the same weave day after day, until the threads memorized my skin and my skin learned the language of cotton—I would choose denim. Not the pristine, factory-fresh blue that screams newness from store shelves, but the kind that whispers stories, that carries the archaeology of ten…
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An Ocean Inside Me
There is an ocean inside me, vast and unnamed, where storms brew without warning and tides pull at my ribcage like moon-drunk waters against some forgotten shore. I carry saltwater in my veins, ancient brine that remembers the first breath of creation, when everything was fluid and possibility moved in currents deeper than memory…
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Tell Me Sweet Little Lies
Tell me the coffee will be ready in five minutes / when we both know the machine is broken, / tell me the train is only running late / and not that I’ve been standing on the wrong platform / for the better part of my reasonable mind… Tell me these sweet little lies /…
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The Game I Gave Myself To
A voice speaks from the depths of digital captivity. Once a player, now a prisoner, the speaker confesses how a game consumed not just time—but body, heart, mind, and soul. As reality fades and virtual rewards take over, this piece captures the silent erosion of self beneath the blue glow of a screen.
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The Weight of Years: A Journey Through Time and Memory
In the corner of my kitchen counter, weathered and worn smooth by decades of devotion, sits my grandmother’s wooden spoon—carved from olive wood in a village whose name I can barely pronounce, but whose essence lives in the grain of this humble instrument. Forty-seven years it has stirred the same clockwise circles, outlasting kitchen renovations,…
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The Universe Speaks
Listen—the cosmos whispers through morning mist, carrying ancient secrets that spiral through your bones. “Allow me to flow through you unrestricted,” it murmurs, “and you will see the greatest magic you have ever seen.” This profound spiritual poem explores the transformative power of surrendering to the universe’s flow, inviting us to become hollow reeds through…
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The Holy Trinity of Creation
In the quiet sanctuary of creation, where light filters through dust-laden air and silence holds its breath, three lovers await their eternal dance—paint, brush, and canvas, each incomplete without the others, each yearning for the moment when separation dissolves into something transcendent…
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Come Home To Your Words
There’s a door I’ve been avoiding, painted white with years of silence, and you know the one I mean— the one that creaks when I approach with trembling fingers wrapped around a pen that’s forgotten how to bleed. I stand before this threshold now, my shadow stretched across the floor like all the words I’ve…
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When Silence Speaks Louder
In the cathedral of unspoken words, where echoes gather like dust on windowsills, I trace the outline of your absence with fingertips that remember the geography of your skin. The house breathes differently now—each room a vessel holding the weight of conversations we will never have…
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Fireflies
I understand what my grandmother knew: That we are all fireflies carrying our small lights through the vast darkness, signaling to each other across the night, hoping someone will see our brief flashing and flash back, I am here, I am here, I am here, before the summer ends and we return to earth, leaving…
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Sometimes If You Think It’s Too Fast, It’s Probably Perfect: Meditation on Speed, Timing, and the Perfection of Now
The hummingbird’s wings beat eighty times per second—too fast for your eyes to follow, yet perfect enough to suspend ruby throat against morning light, defying gravity with invisible grace. Sometimes if you think it’s too fast, it’s probably perfect.
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Nine Voices: A Connected Journey
In Nine Voices: A Connected Journey, poetic voices converge to explore the fluidity of identity, the beauty of listening, and the silent power of memory. From a baker’s quiet rituals to the dusty echoes of a forgotten trunk, this reflective cycle moves through grief, growth, and the sacred rhythm of becoming. Each piece is a…
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The Sink Still Drips (Grief Echoing Through Familiar Spaces)
“I still hear the clatter of forks, not from today, but from a Tuesday three Octobers ago when the soup boiled over and your laughter rose above the steam…” This poem lingers in the stillness of a kitchen that remembers—where every stir, every crack in the tile, and every whisper of cinnamon tells the story…
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Who Do You Spend the Most Time With?
A tender, lyrical meditation on the silent companion we often overlook—ourselves.
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If You Had to Change Your Name, What Would Your New Name Be?
What is a name but a thread through time? If I had to change mine, I would seek not a label— but a mirror reflecting the truest me.
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We Do Not ‘End’. We Become.
In this meditative poem, the soul journeys beyond finality into infinite change — from ashes to oceans, from endings to essence.
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Keep Your Gills to Yourself (A Hilarious Tale of Mouthy Fish and Talkative Humans)
Even a fish wouldn’t get into trouble if it kept its mouth shut— but humans? Oh, we dive right in, mouth first, blabbering our way into awkward parties, accidental confessions, and the unemployment line. A riotous poetic journey through oversharing, silence, and why parrots are smarter than we think.
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The Breath That Moves the Waters
Spirit of God in the clear running water, you move not in thunder alone— but in the hush of rivers, in the rising of trees, in the surrender of all things to something greater than themselves.
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Where the Wind Finds Her
She sits on her balcony—not waiting, not needing— just letting the wind touch her like memory, and rewrite her stillness into peace. The world moves, but for a moment, she simply breathes.
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Let Beauty Persist, Even When the World Burns
When the world collapses under its own weight, let beauty not be the first to go. Let it sing through the smoke, bloom in the ruins, and remind us that grace is not weakness— but resistance.
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To Love and Let Go
To love what can leave. To hold what can die. To let go without flinching— this is how we live, bravely, in a world built on vanishing things.
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Left Turn
At the intersection, I could go right and head home— but turning left would take me into a story that didn’t want to be safe, into a version of me not yet born. I turned left— and everything familiar dissolved into wonder.
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Let Me Be More Than a Name
When you label me, you stop listening. You paste a summary over a novel still being written. Let me be inconvenient and worthy, confusing and holy— more than your comfort zone, more than a name.
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The Price of Waking
Awareness cuts like a blade. It severs comfort, exposes the cage, but grants you the one thing illusion never could— yourself.
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The Song, The Gossip, The Love
A song is never just a song once it finds a wound to echo in. She hummed it through heartbreak, through gossip that carved her into a rumor, through the fire of a love that took more than it gave. This is a poem about remembering, unraveling, and rising again— through melody, myth, and the…
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Precious Stones from You
Your letters are not just ink on paper; they are treasures— gems mined from the depths of your soul, delivered to me with the weight of love, to be cherished like rare stones dug from the golden earth of Burkina Faso.
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You and Me — A Conversation Between Compassion and Discernment
A lyrical meditation on the delicate balance between compassion and discernment — how the heart and mind walk side by side, not in conflict, but in quiet harmony.
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Where Thoughts Go When You Don’t Feed Them
Not every thought is worth your trust. Many are just echoes of the past—old fears in new clothes. This poetic meditation explores the mind’s craving for tension, its habit of jumping to conclusions, and the quiet liberation that begins when you stop feeding your thoughts and start listening to truth instead.
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Steep and Exposed
When love is a ridgeline and every step a choice, some climb to escape—others descend to return. A poetic journey through risk, memory, and the courage it takes to let go.
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The Ultimatum
“You want me to amputate my past to secure your future. But what kind of love asks for blood?” “If being mine means cutting out the people who watered me through drought, then I choose the rain over your desert.”
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Flow Unrestricted: A Love Letter from the Universe
“You ask me what magic is. I say: magic is when you stop trying to become extraordinary and remember you already are.” Let the universe speak through you. It is a tender, powerful invitation to surrender, listen, and rediscover the quiet magic waiting to rise from within.
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The Biggest Lie
“The biggest lie of my life was not a betrayal of someone else. It was a betrayal of myself.” “I’m not fine. I’m barely here. I forget what joy feels like. I’m holding myself together with old emails and duct tape.”
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You Know What? I Quit.
“I quit because I lost track of who I was doing it for. There was a time I would write with dirt beneath my fingernails… Now I Google ‘trending themes.’” This isn’t surrender. It’s reclamation. I’m not going silent — I’m going sovereign.
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for the Disconnected Self
No funeral marked the moment I lost myself, no eulogy read as I dissolved into scrolls, swipes, pings, alerts— digital rosaries I clutched more tightly than prayer.
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The Friend Who Holds Without Clutching
What do I value most in a friend? Not brilliance, not boldness — but gentleness. The quiet kind, that listens without interrupting, that holds space instead of demanding explanation. This poem is a love letter to those who tend rather than fix, who sit with silence instead of fleeing it. A candle in the storm.…
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The Moon Stayed, But You Didn’t
I looked at the moon. I whispered your name. It stayed. But you… you didn’t. The sky didn’t flinch. But I did. Again and again. This is the anthem of the ones who still set the table for someone who never knocks.
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What Are You Good At?A Confession in Light and Dark
I am good at surviving what no one ever admits they lived through. At carrying hunger that howls in libraries. At becoming myth in my own bloodline— not disappearing, but dissolving, like ink becoming memory in water.
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The All I Carry: A Poetic Meditation on What It Means to ‘Have It All’
What does “having it all” truly mean? In this deeply personal and lyrical reflection, I explore the quiet joys, the redefined ambitions, and the evolving truth of fulfillment. A tender, thoughtful answer to the question we often rush to answer—this is a poem for anyone searching for peace in a world that keeps shifting the…
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Talk to Soon: A Journey Through Voices Unheard
A poetic exploration of voices the soul longs to speak to but often ignores.
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Where the Voice Forgot Its Name
Because names peeled off doorbells like old skin, While the moon grew restless in your tea, Though your shoes never forgave you, Even then, the echo asked for ID. And something—finally—named itself: belonging.
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Inheritance of Oddities: A Catalogue of the Self
A surreal plunge into the soul’s storeroom, Inheritance of Oddities is a journey through the uncanny, the forgotten, and the beloved. Each item speaks—half-memory, half-metaphor—of what we keep and why it matters. This poetic odyssey dissects the mundane into myth, the absurd into relic.
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The Ritual of Awakening
I forgot who I was just long enough to meet myself. we shook hands like enemies pretending to be diplomats for the sake of the children.
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Tomorrow Is a Compass Made of Salt
“Hope is not polite. It barges in with muddy feet and eats all your strawberries.” Life wrestles with doubt, collapse, and resilience in a dialogue that blurs the line between “I” and “You.” The mantra — “The sun will rise tomorrow, and I still have a chance” — becomes a lifeline stitched into surreal metaphors,…
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When Leaders Rewrite History for Applause
When applause becomes louder than facts, memory suffers in silence. This poem navigates a surreal landscape where history is rewritten by the powerful, and truth lingers in forgotten voices. It urges the reader to resist, remember, and reclaim narratives erased for convenience.
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The Museum of Me: My Uncollected Collections
“Do I collect things? No. I collect absences. I collect where the rain didn’t fall. Where the letter wasn’t sent. Where the apology stood naked in the doorway and turned back around.”
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The Legacy I Leave Is Not a Name
“Let someone trip over my laughter and fall into their own joy. Let my legacy be the stranger you helped because you remembered how it felt when no one did.
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How Do I Feel About Cold Weather? (a love letter in frost and fire)
“I asked you once— ‘Would you kiss me if I were trembling from the cold?’ You answered— ‘Only if you were trembling for me.’” A tender journey through the seasons of love, memory, and vulnerability, where winter isn’t just a backdrop—but a character in the story of us.
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You, The Sensorium: Writing Through the Five Senses
You do not write with your hands. You write with your skin, your tongue, your earlobes. You are not a poet. You are a sensorium— an instrument of perception, rebelling against the sterile blankness with every breath, every taste of thunder, every scent of unfinished dreams.
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The Osteology of the Soul: Have You Ever Broken a Bone?
Not all fractures leave scars on the skin. Some live quietly beneath the surface—in broken dreams, trust fall failures, and spiritual hairline cracks. Let me take you beyond physical pain into the soul’s X-ray—where silence screams, time shatters, and healing limps in metaphor. Have you ever broken a bone… the kind no doctor can fix?
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The Tilted Gospel: A Poetic Dissection of Work-Home Balance
“Balance is not a mindset. It’s a muscle, and mine trembles under the weight of my own expectations.” In this two-part poem, I try to explore the tension and tenderness of modern life. A visceral journey through exhaustion, guilt, presence, and the sacred art of simply trying.
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Cartography of the Hands: in Touch and Memory
“Your palm is a map I’ve never fully traced. Sometimes it’s Africa. Sometimes it’s heartbreak. Always, it’s moving. Always, it’s mine only for a minute.”
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Beauty is Like Wars: It Opens Doors
A haunting exploration of beauty’s paradox through the lens of war, memory, and self-reclamation. It unfolds across time—revealing how beauty can both wound and awaken, close in silence and burst through boundaries like fire.
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The Funeral of Fire: Desire, Sex, and What Remains
Desire enters before it knocks, cloaked in mirrors and metaphors. This journey untangles the mystery of longing and the quiet funeral that follows every act of sex. It explores how we touch, lie, remember, and forget—all in the name of wanting.
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I Am the Sacrifice: A Confession in Two Parts
In this two-part poetic odyssey, I unravel the raw, unspeakable confessions of sacrifice—first as a lived truth, then as the metaphor I have become. Every stanza breathes the cost of becoming everything for everyone, while quietly losing pieces of myself. This is not surrender—it is survival, told in rhythm and rupture.
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Threadbare Truths: What’s the Oldest Thing I’m Wearing Today?
What if the oldest thing I’m wearing isn’t fabric or metal, but the mole on my neck, the laugh that cracked at sixteen, or the thread that remembers a forgotten promise? This is not just a poem—it’s a slow unraveling of what clings to the skin, and what refuses to fade. Dive into a tapestry…
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Cacophony of Fruits: A Dialogue Between Tongue and Ghost
In this poetic odyssey, the fruits we taste become portals into memory, rebellion, intimacy, and grief. A surreal dialogue unfolds between the self and its shadow—between the you who bites and the you who remembers. Five fruits. Two tongues. One hunger.
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Eyes and the Vacant Room
A vacant room, a steady gaze—yet nothing feels empty. You and I become breath and rhythm, silence and softness. A soulful dance of presence and peace unfolds in a space where everything unsaid is understood.
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The Room Where All Meet
You were never just one person. You were possibility. You were the metaphor that never needed explanation. And we—me, her, him, they, you— we became the unfinished sentence you whispered into our ribs.
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What is My Career Plan? (a poetic conversation between selves and shadows)
Let me tell you what I told the mirror this morning: I plan to dance in libraries and scream into spreadsheets. To file dreams alphabetically— A for anarchist, B for barefoot, C for catastrophe curator. I will not climb your ladder (it looks too much like a gallows in disguise). Instead, I’ll grow sideways like…
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The Curtain Remembers More Than We Do
I swore I saw you bite your lip when the fog machine coughed. I swore I felt your pulse rise in my neck. it wasn’t a play. not really. not a concert, either. it was something between gesture and ghost, an offering that never learned to bow.
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Porous Acts: Becoming Community
In mismatched socks and half-knitted compassion, I did not volunteer—I dissolved into the rhythm of others. What it means to be community, not through speeches or banners, but by showing up, soup in hand, and eyes wide open.
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404: Love Not Found
Your tape wore thin, but I digitized desire. {error.log: love.exe failed to compile} {AI: Did you mean ‘loop’ or ‘loss’?}
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I Kiss the Letters You Forgot to Write
I tried to unlove you in lowercase, but even the periods begged for ellipses.
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Labels on My Tongue, Logos in My Dreams
A lyrical journey through memory, identity, and consumerism—this poem dissects our intimate relationship with brands, where love smells like Nivea, dreams buffer through Apple, and nostalgia is bottled by Paper Boat. What do we consume, and what consumes us?
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The Echoes I Carry (an unfolding in spectral voices)
She taught me to pray without speaking. To tie my hopes to birdsong and bread. Not God, but the idea of God that she folded like laundry, tucked into drawers of daily existence. She never preached. She peeled oranges with her thumbs and that was enough sermon.
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Journeys of the Soul
Our poetry is the seismic tremor of the soul, the unexpected bloom in the concrete wasteland. And even if the physical manifestations fade— the ink bleeds, the pixels die, the wind scatters the sand— the essence of what we have shared will persist.
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Cartography of Broken Stars: Faultlines in My Blood
The ground splits raw beneath me, a silent howl tearing the familiar into ruins. Words once tender become blades, slicing trust into irreparable mosaics. The chasm widens—love, laughter, dreams—all swallowed by an endless void, leaving behind only the bitter smoke of what was.
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Cartographer of the Unnamed Sky
What gives you direction in life? This poem maps a surreal dialogue between the self, the reader, and Direction—who wears many masks, never stays still, and refuses to be defined. Spinning through anatomical maps, laundromats, and desert cacti, this piece dances through confusion, illusion, and unexpected clarity.
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Ephemeral People in the Subway of the Mind
Sometimes, all it takes is a single moment — a glance, a line of Neruda, a napkin prophecy — for someone to etch themselves into your soul forever. In this poem, fleeting strangers become eternal companions in the mind’s subway.
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In the Stillness Between Us
In the quiet between breath and heartbeat, we build a world without masks — a space where laughter, vulnerability, and trust thread through the stillness. No games. No demands. Just two beings choosing each other, over and over, in freedom and raw, luminous truth.
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The Wind That Remembers My Name — in reply to a question never fully answered
Do you have a quote you live your life by? Yes. It begins when you ask me that question, and ends when you stop waiting for it to rhyme.
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Ashes
“You held out your hands like a bowl of frost. I curled into the pocket of your coat.” — from Ashes
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Not the Snow, But the Hollow Space Between Bells
A poetic dive into the emotional undercurrents of New Year’s Eve—exploring time, loneliness, illusions of fresh beginnings, and the strange intimacy of asking someone else: “What is your favorite holiday?”
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City Without Doors: A Hymn for the Invisibly Awake
sometimes I asked the sky— where do the truly free go when the pavement won’t let go of their feet? do they float above traffic jams and Tinder dates, or do they smuggle themselves into basements and bookshelves? and how many of them survive the crush of expectations served with bitter masala tea at the…
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Zero-Gravity Love Letters: Postmarked Nowhere
“Zero-Gravity Love Letters: Postmarked Nowhere” is a raw and evocative exploration of love and loss, captured in fractured fragments and surreal metaphors. Each piece bleeds into the next, creating a disjointed, but intimate narrative of moments and memories — moments we never quite knew how to hold. From quiet goodbyes whispered in the spaces between…
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Blueprints of Breath: When I Feel Most Productive
Productivity smells like forgotten libraries and sounds like paper tearing in all the right wrong places. Creation happens not when I plan it—but when chaos holds my hand and shouts, ‘Run!’ You ask when I feel most productive? When doubt cracks my ribs like wishbones, and I still move. Sometimes just staying alive is my…
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X-Files of Unrealized Guilt and Unfound Love (a symphony in misplaced keys)
An unposted letter. A shipwreck never rescued. A symphony played on broken strings. In the haunted courtrooms of memory, guilt and unfound love dance in shadows we no longer dare to name. This is not a confession — it’s an afterlife.
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What Are My Favorite Emojis?
“What are your favorite emojis?” you ask, and the world unravels. Red hearts leak into question marks. Ghosts float between sighs and suns. Somewhere between the fire and the anchor, we become fragments — not lost, not found — just… translated into silent pixels pressing back.
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What Topics Do You Like to Discuss? (An Exploration in Monologue)
A surreal, whimsical journey through the ordinary and the overlooked — this poetic monologue invites you to explore everything from staplers and socks to dreams and dust, all through an irreverently introspective lens.
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Veins of the Unseen Leap: Volcanoes Don’t Ask Permission Before They Erupt
I didn’t leap. I dissolved. I bled into the moment where fear could no longer hold form, and the world, instead of answering, became a question back— louder, stranger, wider than any map could hold. What does risk look like when it isn’t an act but a becoming? A poetic descent into the chaos and…
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Vessel of the Vanquished
A crimson bloom, ripped raw, a brutal tear, its lifeblood staining a landscape stark and sere… A tapestry woven with threads of strife, a somber, dark design— a masterpiece of discord, draining the color of life, a tragic, twisted twine.
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Undone: A Chorus Across Time
A poetic symphony that weaves different perspectives through memory, imagination, and timeless echoes of past. “Undone: A Chorus Across Time” dances through forgotten futures and remembered silences, folding time into rhythm and breath.
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“Harmony on the Rooftop”– after Leonard Cohen, in chorus with Neruda, Angelou, Whitman, Eliot, Dickinson, and others
On a rooftop under an open sky, strangers gather with instruments and lines from beloved poets to create a symphony of collective memory, voice, and hope.
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I Ate the Lightning: The Risk I Took That Set Me Free (A Meditation on Risk, Regret, and Becoming)
In a world that demands obedience, the most radical risk is unbecoming the version of yourself built for approval. This poem is a fierce, introspective odyssey into choosing truth over comfort, fire over silence, and liberation over belonging. A testimony for anyone standing at the edge of their own becoming.
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The Ones Who Knew How to Sing (a meditation in birdsong)
In a world cluttered with noise and stories, birds remind us that healing doesn’t need a reason, and song doesn’t ask for silence to begin. A lyrical meditation on grief, hope, and the quiet courage of birdsong.
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Transient Tapestry: The Silence of Might-Have-Been
In the murmurs of half-remembered dreams and silent regrets, a timeless tapestry unfolds—whispering of a day when inaction reigned, only to yield a spark of courage and the promise of transformation.
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Saturation: The Ache That Ate the Sky
A surrealist exploration of obsessive longing, emotional hunger, and phantom intimacy, this poem weaves different perspectives into one trembling tapestry of desire. Saturation isn’t love—it’s the storm before, during, and after.
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What Makes Me Nervous? (A Hovering)
A surreal, tangled poetic journey that shifts between I, you, and they—each person unraveling their nerves, hesitations, and unspoken trembles. This piece dives deep into the psyche, weaving vulnerability, inner monologues, and public masks into a shared landscape of human emotion.
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Resilience Wears Soft Shoes
A river of voices—braided into poetry that stumbles, dances, and rises through the silence. A poetic letter to the weary, the hopeful, and those quietly becoming. Resilience here is not loud—it’s soft, steady, sacred.
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Blue-Lit Abyss: How Do I Use Social Media?
A hauntingly lyrical plunge into the paradox of social media—this poem blends various voices to explore how we curate, connect, and sometimes collapse online. Dwelling between the constructive and the destructive, it ultimately offers an unexpected gesture of raw humanity.