Strip your mind clean of enemies,
just call them people instead,
don’t offer them
the satisfaction of your anger
don’t let them feel your racing heart in their empty hands
don’t let them fill their voids
by creating one in you.
Love them instead.
Shower them with the blessings of the high heavens;
step out of your ancestors' matryoshka nest
and ask them to cradle these broken hearts instead.
Your fire is too precious to squander
in tugs of war not worthy of devotion,
love in God’s stead—
it’s precisely what you were born to do.