If I were in charge of the world, banners would fly in the sky, telling folk how beautiful they were, not just on birthdays but on everyday ordinary days.

If I were in charge of the world, dragons would roam through the streets at night, lighting touchpapers of desire.  Unicorns would drift by the sides of the rivers, breaking open hearts with the whiteness of their dreaming.

If I were in charge of the world, the doors of the offices would be flung wide open, and work would be done outside.

If I were in charge of the world, tiny scribbled notes would be left under pillows, just fragments of poems in the middle of the night, like a poetry tooth fairy, swapping poems for pain.

If I were in charge of the world, men would be told how good they were, how proud, how brave, how much we value the strength that they give us and the love they show us.

If I were in charge of the world, the hearts of our mothers would be kissed in the night, giving soft reassurance that all was all right.

If I were in charge of the world, reality TV would show us what was real: quiet moments of humour, of truth-telling care, in those quiet hidden places that nobody talks about, but we all know are there.

If I were in charge of the world, there would be a copy of Hafiz in every cafe, in every bookstore, in every railway carriage, in every bus station, a free gift of love, showered on all.

If I were in charge of the world, tears could flow freely at the things that are sad, ineffably, unchangeably, immutably sad.

If I were in charge of the world, you would wake up in the morning and find flowers by your pillow, and know how much I loved you.

If I were in charge of the world, we would dance, under moonlight, and sing poems to the stars.