David Fekete

The Buddhists say we are all connected
The coffee plantation in Africa and breakfast in New York
My coffee cup and a Chinese factory worker
The rice paddy that gave her supper
The exploding star that formed the iron of which the plow is made
The exploding star that made the iron for the bullets in my enemy’s gun
My enemy who would shoot those bullets at me
The iron in my body’s blood
The iron in the blood of the other political party, who stands under my flag
We are all connected, all one
My enemy as my beloved are all one with me
Everything is mine, is me
And I am one with everything
Makes me think twice about rage, about hate
About causing anyone harm, anything harm