In honor of the global climate strikes
It's crowded, so crowded. What an energy!
They're all here, for the same reason.
But, now there's distance. Marks on the ground counting 1,5 metres.
It's safe and responsible and still a strike.
Continuing with the same goodhearted spirits and the collective yearning for justice and improvement.
Real stuff, not noise, no BS and no empty promises meant to satisfy the smart masses that are seeing through the scheme of being held out on, receiving always only little drops of water to stall their thirst,
stopped by the long arm of politics and money making.
It's all political they say. But is it?
Walking through the streets I see some friends, waving to them I smile and then look onward into the masses.
So crowded, yet so empty.
There's a nervous feeling in my chest, nerves and anticipation that make me feel jittery. Today it's nerves.
Other days I'm just excited and happy.
I welcome the energy and I am elated about the prospect ob being part of the change, a catalyst for change. A small screw in a big wheel, but a screw nonetheless.
I look up at the grey concrete that houses the Monarchs of this area.
The wooden doors to my right that open to the encyclopedia salesmen of politics.
And the windows that shield the artisans who skillfully build a nontransparent, misleading packaging, that wraps up any dirty box into a pretty, hollow cover.
And they're all sitting around, watching the television, paying car insurances, planning charities or having lunch.
"Is this a joke?" I think and I get angry.
And once again there is A SCREAM BUILDING UP IN MY CHEST, YELLING, LOUDER AND LOUDER until I think that I'm shouting.
And I realize that we're all shouting, underlining the urgency of the block letters that spell: "THE POLAR CAPS ARE MELTING", right above the picture of a dying animal.
To the unsung heroes.
With love and gratitude.