We do not find faith on the street,

nor folded beneath a pillow,

nor planted on the balcony like a flower or a bramble,

nor photographed and framed, at the entrance to the heart, or beneath the heel.

No, no!

Faith takes running to be won.

It takes nails, it takes knees, it takes groaning.

It takes falling and rising a thousand times,

without crying ah,

without letting anyone else know you are limping.

You must spit at yourself in the mirror for your mistakes, lick your wounds,

then kiss the purity you kept hidden in the pockets of your ego,

change your lifestyle, the curtains of your perspective, your armchair and your skin,

when until yesterday you could not see the potholes, the curves, the trash,

embrace the dawn, when others say, “Night has fallen!”

you, to dream only of light, there where shadows hold council but have no teeth.

Where the heart beats in fear but does not turn back even when the dogs bark.

We do not buy faith by selling our soul, our body, our dignity,

nor by spreading lies,

it takes guts, it takes nerve, it takes the grinding of teeth, it takes fire, it takes a roasting spit.

It takes tigers that drink the flames and eagles that die in the air,

falcons that dive into the abyss,

are not killed, but grow, grow stronger and fly to conquer the skies.

It is not the property of people who play with fate, who are smug behind a necktie, whose souls are pitch-black, and who sell the dreams of others like junk at the Medrese market.

It is not a garment, worn by the living dead, by beasts in suits, women in heels and without faith.

It is not like the cloud that drops five raindrops of hope and vanishes,

to deceive with crumbs or bran.

It is not barren land, but moisture, roots, a sprout that needs watering and hoeing.

It takes claws to hold on so you do not smash your snout, steps measured in centimeters, for life has abysses,

it has downhills, it has resin, scratches and gunshots.

It has steppes and hooks, it has obstacles with brambles, it has twitches and cramps,

it has barbed wire, rubber batons,

that break your ribs and dreams, without a second thought,

for they have the devil in their belly, he guides them.

We do not seek faith as a dowry,

before we are crowned in church,

before the rice falls like warning stones upon our bangs,

before the devil rears his head to throw ash in our eyes,

before the irony of fate cowers behind the icon of love and does not flinch.

And for the sun of disappointment to run a fever,

for awakenings to wear shackles,

for evenings to hold thieving promises,

with a moon that chews stones.

Ah!

Faith is a crown in the heart,

a butterfly in the stomach, the wiping of a tear with a smile, a kiss on the lap of the moon, youth that does not drip blood.

Girls who smell of jasmine,

not poison gas in the lungs.

Not grandfathers weeping over photos of grandsons,

not mothers waiting at the gate like shadows,

not daughters dragged by their hair.

It wants poppy maidens,

boys with books in hand and flowers for their friends, not stones and black tears.

Faith is not a church where the devil prays,

nor a mosque where the ghoul combs his hair,

nor a bible with parrot words,

a quran with lawful jackals.

Nor a prayer for checks and favors,

a cross where youth is hung upside down.

Faith is a window where children are doves of peace.

Faith = FREEDOM!