People of this Earth

We are the people of this earth

secure in ourselves and building walls,

everyone is just building walls

to barricade ourselves

secure in our nameless, shameless faces

building walls; building walls; we keep on building walls

to keep ourselves safe

(thinking; this is my ground, maybe this is my ground,

baby this is my ground)

but what is solid keeps us stuck in our places

building walls i’ve seen so many shattered, empty faces.

 

We are the people of this earth,

secure in ourselves, searching for a ground,

to promenade ourselves

we think that

by separating ourselves,

and building walls,

we won’t be amongst the starving, nameless faces.

 

We are the people of this earth,

so long as we keep convincing ourselves

that it’s all about the ground

we won’t see any other future,

that doesn’t keep us stuck to the ground.

 

history is our ground, maybe this is my ground

identity is our ground, maybe this is my ground

feeling is our ground, baby this is my ground

language is our ground, maybe this is my ground

thought is our ground, maybe this is my ground

maybe we’re all just one ground into tiny little pieces.

 

 

 

We are the people of this earth / secure on our ground / I see so many shattered faces / Thinking, maybe this is my ground; this is my ground; this is my ground; this is my ground; this is my ground; this is my ground; this is my world.

 

Erasure Poem from Emile, or Education Book IV by Jean-Jacques Rousseau

look down from glory upon the sufferings of the unfortunate,
the labours of the wretched,
thoroughly aware
these unhappy persons

standing on the edge of the abyss,

put no trust in birth, health, or riches; sunk below the condition

of these wretched ones.
acquire knowledge,

learn to perceive the prudence of mankind
grinding teeth

do not teach
see and feel the calamities which overtake men
cling more closely to fear that is what matters most.

From Emile, or Education by Jean-Jacques Rousseau