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I miss the rain
and the grey of the sky
amazing how homesick
the time doesn’t fly

I love the warmth
and I crave the sun
but among cold people
the heat feels wrong

I dream of hot tea
on a grey winter morning,
here despite blue skies
my heart is in mourning

you know, Spirituality
is not being a vegan
or buying all-organic
when your heart is tyrannic

Maybe real spiritual people
drink Coke and eat Mars
Knowing that true kindness
isn’t about chocolate bars

They don’t need to wear hemp
and don’t hate you for leather
they find sunshine inside us
no matter the weather

So it’s easy to be a monk
in a temple or shrine,
but can’t a hooker be a monk
If she has the right mind?

India doesn’t make you spiritual
neither does chanting or a cleanse,
obsessed with your own self
feeds the ego with no end

The old man reading on a bench
the young girl who moved away,
couldn’t they be the ones
who really have the most to say?

Yoga can be great for sure
meditation and mantras, too
but the exploitation of the soul
leaves us in a spiritual zoo

I miss the poets of the elevators
whose impromptu spirit travels
up and down office buildings
as their mind in steel unravels

I miss the lyricists of coffee shops
of bakery runs on a Sunday,
of the 6 pm red wine glasses
feeling the week was hard on a Monday

I miss the everyday artists
of damp cigarettes in rain,
who come home wet and exhausted
until music heals their pain

of loud hip hop played in trains
on a hazy morning-after,
of craving cheesy pizza
curing small heartaches with laughter

of friends met for endless hours
and then lazing in bed alone,
of calling your family for no reason
but to hear their voice on the phone

of staring out windows in lost thought
and forgetting the keys in the door,
of accepting your flaws with humour
and telling your lover you want more

of being so totally human
that your spirit can’t help but be here,
of feeling a God-like presence
just by breathing in soft morning air

I can’t wait for the everyday heroes,
for the mud-filled puddles of rain
for the moments so undeniably real
they cure all other-worldly pain

So the honor in being a human,
a human who lives humbly wherever
makes me crave those wise humans who
live in lightness no matter the weather

So I will come back home in the darkness,
away from this spiritual strain
we can be ourselves, lightning and thunder –
I will wait for you in the rain


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