We have the right to explore this world without your filters
To smell incense burning in a den that exists
Light years from your mess hall
This world belongs to no one and to everyone
We are not a calculation
Our dreams are more real and more profound than your masks
We have the right to be citizens of unknown territories
To be tourists inside our own hearts
For love needs no visa
For laughter requires no proof of identification
Our agendas are blind finger paintings
Our movements coax stars to align
We are random and illimitable
Like the song of the coqui in the rainforest
That is our childhood and our retirement
We have the right to make and unmake ourselves
To fall tragically and to patch ourselves back together
With the fears of our lovers and the sorrows or our mothers
The press conference is an illusion
The senate hearing a regurgitation of brats
Our kindness will be erected as a shrine
Our confusion will be the garden that complements its entrance
We are a brief and never-ending pageant
When we embrace a bridge of light expands across all 14 dimensions
When we cry we give birth and host exquisite banquets
We have the right to exist unfettered
To be shamelessly imperfect
To belch and call it a Samba
We cannot be bound by economics or psychological analysis
For we are the dream The memory The drum
The electrical impulse
The stone The water’s offspring The dust The silence
And the opus
We have the right to question everything To be temporary and
nameless and anonymous
To surrender to the scent of the passion fruit To spread our kindness like a cold
We have the right to become boundless
To acquiesce and wave at strangers
To live in the infinitive form of the verb
To be