I dream a world

whereby

Siddhartha’s wisdoms be incarnate.

A world

made by

Kaundinya’s arrow,

although

it was his love

not war

that won Soma’s heart.

(Daughter of the Naga,

Apsara Princess

and Warrior-Queen.)

It was He who prayed,

under a Bodhi tree:

“Conquer anger with non-anger.

Conquer badness with goodness.

Conquer meanness with generosity.

Conquer dishonesty with truth.”

But it was She who sang,

under a Hangman’s tree:

“Southern trees bear a strange fruit.

Blood on the leaves and blood at the root.

Black bodies swinging in the Southern breeze.

Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees.”

Our boundless love

broken

by the walls and fears of man.

But we are more

than lotuses, or islands, or mountains

– rivers and oceans between.

Our tears, more

than crocodiles, waiting,

for the droughts to end

and guarding

small streams.

Threatening Her Law Eternal:

If hate could appease hatred,

then this world, our paradise on earth,

would be, peace be made,

and unmarked

by crude spears and the stone arrows

of Jebel Sahaba.

Yet,

here We are.

I dream a world

made Free

by the truth-tellers

and teachers

and mothers

…like me.

A dream of a dream,

from the depths of our souls,

unbounded by fear,

unguarded and made brave

by the pain of birth,

our existence

and an endless sacrifice.

Compelled forward

by all the things we’re told,

the things we can’t do,

and the people we can’t be.

I dream a world

where the me that’s inside of me

is the me

that everyone else

sees.

I dream…a dream of a dream of a dream.

© 2021-2025 Chenda Duong

Note: I wrote this poem in response to NPR’s, “Poetry Challenge: Honor MLK By Describing How You Dream A World,” (2021).