We split life through our prisms
Wanting all of every color
The rainbow can’t be held in hand
A white shroud before time would be duller
What art isn’t more brilliant with chaos
What race starts at the end
What fall hasn’t succeeded spring
What distance doesn’t hunger yet tend
Who has lived that isn’t a fool
Who has walked without a trip
The spirit, of all, is colorless
And grit is always one’s only grip
Taming her is a tradition
With history for reference
Literature for support
And society for strength
Aware of her capability
Giving her all for love and care
She lets herself sink
For the comforts of others there
Her sacrifice is not taken for granted
She is honored as a stepping stone
She is praised as one without dreams
She is awarded the limitless bounds of home
A force of nature,
She can at the most be harnessed
Her vulnerabilities are also her strengths
And you fear her for that, let’s be honest
Having unchained herself
She walks with the calm of a storm
She is the fire and she is the quench
Who is she to conform?
Like a river, gushing and leaping
Always flowing through my veins for you
It escapes the calm exterior in animated spills
Especially in our brief moments together, those few
The heart is abundant, yet the force contained
Nurturing me and the lush surround
Wishful, you ask me to find the sea
As if I am yet to touch the ground
Winding through the land, spreading but not thin
I have my eyes out in every direction
But what if the sea is just my end, and not my means?
What if the flow is my home, my true inspiration?
A touch, a smile, a passion, a love
Unlike us, these are not prisoners of time
We seek, before and after we taste
Not realizing that our longest relationship, is with longing itself
Heart is a tempest, in magic and void
The beauty, is in riding its waves
The art of sanity, however, is in
Knowing, that every ripple is the same and eternal
When I close my eyes
I can still smell the red soil
I can still see your green lush
I can still hear your beats
When I think of you
I can still feel your warmth
I can still taste your hospitality
I can still sense your vibrant energy
I am a part of you
And a part of you, I will always have
Like a mother’s bosom
You’ll always be home to me
In the thick of the forest
With the fog, cold and sounds blurring your senses
Do you try to shed the obscuring cloud?
Or do you wear it like a cape instead?
On the winding paths of purpose
As you catch your breath
Does the sight of flowers nurtured by your sweat soothe you?
Or does the distant promise still bother you instead?
You know you can fly, above this dense
A clear view ahead and wind by your side
Do you search for your wings that hide from you?
Or do you just go ahead and dive with faith instead?
Time has always marked us with lines
When born, we call them fingerprints and dimples
After a few decades, we call them wrinkles
You see the lines that time added around my eyes
The ones I see more when I look into the mirror
Are the ones that time added to my spirit
Still a child, I believed in my supernatural abilities
Youthful but naïve, I fought the scars of my wounds
Now, I accept them with camaraderie
Admiring them for all the tests they stood
Understanding them for all the ones they didn’t
And still hoping that zest will persevere beyond their wisdom
To young fathers,
I see the delight when you look into your daughter’s eyes
I know the way your heart beats for her
I know you would jump into the sky to get her the stars
I know you’ll fight for the world to be her oyster
To older mothers,
I know you don’t see your children differently when they are that young
But as she starts to grow, you teach her to accept based on your experience
You have passed on some of your dreams, and some you have lived through her
But during crucial times, you pass on your belief of adherence
To older fathers,
She is your joy that eases your day
You hold her gentle like a flower
You always want to give her everything
And fear the day when her wellness is not within your power
To young mothers,
You know the fight she has to fight
You know you have to run and pass the baton
You let her dream, you let her fly
Hoping not everything she’ll ask for will still be Latin
Know that you are the ones who decide how she lives
Know that those without daughters may not know the women of the times
You are the ones that have to take a stance and make her able
You are the ones that have to think and act betimes
You teach and enable her when mothers also keep and pass their name
You teach and enable her when you show you are equals in this game
You teach and enable her when you reflect on where to place the blame
You teach and enable her when you stand with her without shame
Privilege is the hand that helps as we climb a ladder
Privilege is being able to go out without a cloak
Privilege is knowing you won’t be asked more of yourself than others
Privilege is feeling safe among all the other folk
Privilege is what we held on to
When we pretended to establish equality
If you ever had to pick yourself up after losing everything
You may begin to imagine the strength it takes to stand calamity after calamity
Even those of us, who haven’t meant harm
Have used the helping hands for our own climb
Knowing all too well in our hearts
who our climb was going to leave behind
We may have felt guilt, we may have sought repentance
Our hearts may have pained at others’ injustice
Silent bystanders so far, not knowing what we could do
Are being told how we could stand together this solstice
Let us learn to see another person
Beyond their biologically adapted trait to sun exposure
We all have color and we all wear a shade
Let us not hide any longer behind our masquerade
Let us have more faith in our abilities to seek and forgive
Let us focus on the efforts to amend
Let us be humble and thankful
That what’s being sought is justice, not revenge
An old man, thin and frail
Smile that extends to his deep set eyes
Veins that have stood with him through the decades
Lines that have shaped with his life
Not a glamorous job, not a different vibe
Not different goals, the same old strive
Money for the food, roof for the family
Survive the system, manage bare dignity
But he was once young, he was once handsome
He once had eyes filled with dreams
He dreamed of love, he dreamed of standing up
He too dreamed of purpose and meaning
Is it fair that only some have the chance
to pursue their dreams beyond youth?
Should privilege define our lives so?
Because that is our ugly truth
