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Like a dance that
never ends,
love pulls and pushes

we see the same actions
but see different intentions
and the love sometimes
gets lost in translation

like a bicultural immigrant,
dreaming in prayers whispered
in foreign churches on
the labyrinthine streets of
ambiguous in-betweens where
the deep brown of your skin
lies in contrast with
the yellow brown of mine

reasons I’ve long called
by names of politeness,
of obedience,
of deference to my elders,
the strict mold around which
my spirit was forged
from the rough ore of
youthful rebellion,
to ultimately form the
Oriental woman’s
languor and mysticism,
wrapped in a heavy brocade of
tradition that I now occupy
and that caught your eye
in the beginning,
now become acts of disrespect
to the burning light,
the enduring freedom whose
raging winds have
stripped your Westernness of
the embellishments of character
to stand on its own,
proud and powerful and strong
like smooth chiseled ebony

and my sacred becomes
your profane,
your innocent
intoxicates me with guilt,
priorities lose their proportions
and it’s hard to find balance,
hard to hold you when
even your eyes misunderstand me

but that long ago moment
when our souls first touched
continues to sing its song,
humility finds its direction
by asking questions,
and all the times we give
another chance to being
extraordinary together, instead
of being ordinary apart
glow like a legion of fireflies
illuminating the avenues
of the impossible,
dragging doubts out of
their hiding places and
turning our differences into
simply
more love
.

bikers
.
“Aranyat Leltünk V.” by photographer Akos Kiss

.

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