For the love of a life of plenty

they left their homeland

rich in the metaphysical,

but with little to feed their ambitious pride. 

For the love of the God they could not see,

they were taught as children

beside trees of plums and pomegranates

to yearn for sweat to drip from their ever-working souls. 

To provide for and nourish their children

who they would not see grow old. 

Whose grandchildren they would not see come to be. 

Teaching, yet caught in a context 

that could not see above the mountain, and

into the forest of drier soils

that would subjugate as they strove to integrate.  

Seek new meaning as you bid your land goodbye.

I sit alone,

existing as a hybrid.

From the immeasurable, I am given life.

My eyes open to the dysfunction I could not see

once upon a childhood.

Forever questioning am I -

my youth like no other

provides me with antipathy to stereotypes.

Questions, questions, never answers,

my youth asking me why.

Why are you so lonely?

So alone with this bleeding breast of sorrow.

Where did your childhood go?

You remained distracted by the good that was.

Life was never sweeter.

Now it has mellowed, growing slower,

growing harder am I, yet -

I walk on concrete now.

I left the unstable sand.

My mind is now clearer from adolescent storms

in foreign lands.

Still feeling of middle age intellectually,

but a child, alone and questioning, emotionally.

Bid your loneliness away, it’s time.

From these mountainous burdens I shall heal.

Remaining above the rarity,

that struck them at a loss for anything sure to speak.

My giftedness feeds subjugation over again.

I glisten with its remnants.

I hear their voices, they call me special,

yet I continue yearning to find my equal.

That day shall come,

dare I possess the courage to bid my loneliness away.

The courage you have,

the hope you feel but cannot see.

Friends, will you start accepting me?

Nineteen or twenty, what’s the difference, really?

These chains of my own making,

my constant analyses, self-subjugating.

I will be defined by no label,

no condition or situation.

Only my perspective shall provide

such precious pearls of wisdom,

for my ambitious pride.

The strains of a working class minority need not be forgotten.

They will remain, in the Levant

chanting ‘Kyrie Eleison’, chanting-

For God to forgive those 

whose presence graces us with ignorance,

with greed and stubbornness.

The mountains shall remain,

as my strength of will remains.

Patient, forgiving, understanding.

My post-modern state dares to break down barriers.

My hybrid being dares to seek new definitions.

For the love of a life of plenty,

Will our culture dare to evolve?

For the love of one humanity,

maintain your nature, evolve, evolve.

criss-cumber:

brb.. le piano lesson

(Source: tardisgoesvworpp)