Tribute to Karim Manji

A poem I wrote for Karim when half dreaming half waking this morning: This man, may age, my stage, not my skin colour but my heart my blood, my brain. More sincere, more clear, more diligent, more precise. And he was nice, funny, cheeky, happy, smiley, loving, kind, committed, passionate, skilled and skilful. He punned for fun, he spoke for truth, he suffered like me, thought like me, mindfully walked like me, went to Cambridge (not like me) went to Plum Village more than me, committed his life so others could be, free. Free from ignorance, fear, injustice & climate catastrophe (but not puns though). Free from chasing after life rather than being present for life. He was life, he was alive, he was the change, and he was loved by so many. Why him and not me?