By Jessica Barman
I flipped through the channels,
With a frown on my face,
Peace did the protestors demanded,
But with the followed dissent,
It was no small quest,
"Peace" was the new mirage.
The word got my world spinning,
Leaving me in an unrequited distress,
For a word so tranquil,
Its lack thereof was such trouble.
I mulled over its essence,
As I processed it in my brain.
The images that came through were horrific,
A broken winged white dove,
Chained within shreckles of barbarism.
Realized I was foreign to this serenic expression.
Recurrent exposure to angst,
My thoughts had been shrouded
By the linens of violence and hate,
That since centuries had clouded,
The disheveled minds of men and women great.
I pondered over and over,
To divulge this tricky word's true meaning.
But with a soul that was in unrest,
Could never theorize rest.
To seek this state,
I did not glance anywhere but within.
When the rays of realizations dawned,
The path towards peace it gleamed.
Peace was in not in keeping quiet,
But in voicing for those that were shunned.
Peace was not in incense sticks,
But in the warmth within that could thaw icy jeers.
Peace was not in a white dove,
But in freeing our soul's caged aves.
Peace could not be seeked, only felt.
For it is not still, but dynamic.