The People on the Street

I am looking through the window of a bus
fascinated by the slow and steady rush
of people on the street
as they pray and cook and eat.

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I see a family on a motorbike
protesters on their way to the strike,
and a monk collecting food,
they’re all part of this neighbourhood.

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We’re so different and we’re all the same.
Sometimes I wish that life was just a game
but I know it’s not
and every life is worth a lot.

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For “God so loved the world that He gave his only Son”
and yet I woke up in the middle of Romans one
because they do not even know it,
Instead they’re trying to ‘make merit’.

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If they only knew that the price was already paid
and all they need is faith;
to have so much more to live for…

Woman on the street

I am passing through the gates of the MRT
wondering if the person behind me is a he or a she
sometimes it’s hard to tell
they play their part so well.

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All dressed up and nowhere to go
or if they do – maybe I don’t want to know.
I’ve seen too much and not enough,
I’ve heard the silent cry. I’ve felt the lack of love.

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I wish I could look them all in the face
and tell them about grace.
Knowing there is no confusion of identity
if all that matters is ‘Christ in me’.

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I am on a train to a place I’ve never been.
The sky is blue, the grass is green
and the tracks are leading the way,
it’s a beautiful day.

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My thoughts get lost in translation
as I dream dreams on behalf of this nation
that the King of Kings will one day reign
and not a single statue will remain.

 Hua Hin

 

 

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