By Paz Griot


I see you crying in the square,

smog and wires in your hair,

still a train ticket

falls out of your wallet

and a spark burns in your voice

and after the sky lets us rejoice

we’ll remember who we are.

Times when the truth got hit by cars,

people told us we had nothing
and we felt the stigma’s sting,

still I’ll hold you through the hater’s chatter,

I’ll pull you through the urban shatter

to a place where sand meets incense

and our voices can become intense

and we find closure for our losses,

days of reprimands and bosses.


People who left promises on the subway,

souls who burned and vanished in dismay

in the ashes of the night

closure shines on our flight

and storytellers tell it like is,

insurgents are rewarded for their risks.


So don’t give to the crowds

what can’t be turned around.

Don’t surrender your stories

to condescending armies.

Don’t run away from mystery

or let the banks take your integrity.


Ride this train till it derails.

Trust the stage till you prevail.

I’ll be right here on the bar rooftop,

watching you as your rhythm drops.

I’ll be smiling from the ceiling

cuz stigma begins healing

when we honor who we are.

And closure anoints our stars.

Let the horizon breathe new life

into these creative eyes.


We were born with blood of gods and shamans,

bringing messages to our generation.

Let the ocean wash over you

till closure cleanses your vicissitudes,

transcending bigoted economies

we find our tranquility.


The path to emancipation

is paved in your revelation.



Paz Griot is a spoken word poet, visual artist, actor, playwright, and performer originally from New York City. He now lives in Istanbul. He has written and published several poems, performed in countless plays and open mic events, written seven plays and exhibited his paintings, collages, and sculptures in six gallery shows in New York. He is currently writing his eighth play, and is launching a Zen meditation group.