The Program Poem by Martins Akhoeneto

They taught me
to fear my hunger,
to call poverty holy
and ambition greed.

So I learned to shrink
and call it gratitude,
to wear my limits
like borrowed grace.

Be content with little,
they said.
Do not reach too far.

Yet those preaching simplicity
built walls around abundance
and taught empty hands
to bless the emptiness.

But hunger is not always greed.
Sometimes it is the soul
remembering its size.

Jesus worked with His hands.
Solomon knew abundance.
The danger was never the harvest,
but kneeling before it.

So I will not worship money.
Neither will I worship lack.

I can bless this table
without mistaking it
for the whole feast.

I can be grateful
and still become.

Let me work.
Let me build.
Let me rise
without apologizing
for my becoming.

And when the old voice returns
dressed in borrowed holiness:

Want less.
Dream smaller.
Stay where you are.

I will recognize it.

Not God.
Not humility.

The program.

And this time,
I will not obey.