Upon waking on Human Rights Day
I opened the windows
and I was a host,
for fresh air, a warm wind.
I heard the whispering of children—
The dry river ran with water.
The children returned to the alley to play.
Some fears departed the village.
Water ran through the desert—dry no longer.
Today tastes like
a loaf of bread,
a hot, black tea for Grandma,
a bowl of broth for a laborer.