I drive on the right side of the road,
or the right side of the road, as I call it.
But when you drive on the right side of the road,
you drive on the left side of road.
So right becomes left,
up becomes down,
east becomes west,
And all we known is a jumbled bunch of roundabouts,
making the wrong turns on the right roads,
walking up a downward escalator.
It doesn’t matter if we look at this sideways, edgeways, upways, or downways,
Because we are all on different pathways,
And we only meet for a fleeting intersection.
So let us not argue about whether up is down, or right is left,
The magnetic plates beneath us do not dictate how we connect,
But hold my hand as we cross the road,
Before you turn right and I go left.
Golan Heights, the border between Syria and Israel.
March 24, 2017