Through the Eyes of Love

What’s there left to say—my youth
Is all but gone... Throughout these
years I’ve seen too many wars
and not enough compassion...
“Just make the best of things,”
you used to say, but what is best,
when you yourself are cold and distant,
when ignorance rules the public
discourse, when lies are sweet
like candy, what’s there left to say?…
Another war draws near, and I’m
tired of saying anything about it—
the young protesters are outnumbered,
their voices drowned in propaganda
and the catchy TV ads that praise
the virtues of free market capitalism—
“Let freedom ring!”—they sell the old
cliché to celebrate the uniformity
of thought, as the disparity between
the rich and poor grows even wider...
In their patriotic haze they cannot see
that their freedom comes at a price
of poverty and wars, while I’m much
too tired to make a difference...
Yes, everybody tries, and there is no
perfect world—and so they wouldn’t
even dream of trying to change it.
And I’m just a ghost, with these
strange prophetic songs,
this apocalyptic verse that weighs
upon my mind—the visions of blood
and death, earthquakes and storms,
famines and climate changes—
my freedom isn’t to be found in this
world, in this tyranny of greed,
in these temporary satisfactions
of desires...
I’m the sound that wakes the spirit
in a man and makes him thirsty,
makes him aware of what he lacks.
For money’s just a trap that blinds us
to the true value of this earth,
and as I think in sadness of how
it could be, I still have hope
that maybe I have captured enough
of your attention to show you
a fleeting vision of God’s kingdom,
that only can be seen through
the eyes of love.

 September 22, 2002
--Alexander Shaumyan