Culture _ Undated If I could have one wish It would be for the world to have a black out As if technology didn’t exist Our ancestral flames are burning out I just want us to find our roots And practice our original traditions We Need Our history I have been disconnected from my native lands for far to long For far To Long Like Native Americans needed peace pipes I need my culture And these peace pipes give off smoke signals like carrier pigeons over seas Flying back to Africa where the beating of drums help to reconnect our heritages While my Tiano ancestors leave clues for their descendents And slavery must not have been enough Because we sample soul food Taste testing forms of poetry so that every word come out delicious And now my body wants To scream out rituals To become intoxicated with music To let my culture free But I must be a heathen For I have lost my native tongues But how could this be possible When I am four nations fused into one Or is it that the universal language has taken over And robbed me blind of my heritages My cultures My Traditions But I must be confused Because if actions speak louder than words Then I have never even lost myself For I live day to day through my traditions Think back upon my culture And recap my rectangular heritage But sometimes I feel that I am just a line Searching for an opening to my cultural triangle As if black could never fit into a black crowd Africa doesn’t want me I’ve lost my ancestral home And why is it that I’m Latin When my virgin Mary has been buried a long time ago While my Native American heritage has been trapped between pages in my history books My ancestors cried out to me And now I’m just trying to find them If I were to trace back my mother’s blood line I would find myself in mother Africa But she is not deemed worthy to hold that title Mother For she did not nurture me Better yet She gave me up for adoption To America At least that is what mommy tells me And Africa claims that I was stolen from her But my mother has written documents to prove who I am While she just has words of who I should have been Amistad Amistad was just the beginning And Roots was next That’s where Kunta Kinte got his foot cut out for standing up for what he believed in And now he crawls America would have chopped off his arms for holding on to hope But his hope Was faith Butchered him down Until he was nothing but a heart And still want more Trying to get his soul Without knowing that the soul of this slave was in his music His dance In his God So who am I to believe now A mother that I have known for seventeen years Or a stranger Puerto Rico I may not know you But I have heard From somewhere beyond the grape vines That we are related And I just felt that I had to get some of these overwhelming questions off my chest What keeps you going Do you know your people What are your traditions And no I don’t mean the ones that you have now I’m talking about the ones that my Tiano Ancestors started Or did you forget them like the rest of the world Becoming a follower like the a lot of the other small islands Because my people’s ways have changed And I just want to see if I can relate to you Does your Piononos taste anything like the fluttering insects in my thorax Or is it more like beautiful roses trapped within my nasal cavity Because if so Than Goya must translate into love Now what about your Salsa Does your olive oil, cloves of garlic, pinch of salt, and chopped tomatoes Specify the meaning of music Putting that pep to your step making your spirit leap out from their prisons and explore Because that is how dragons transmutate into water And how was your childhood Were you picked on by others because you were different Because I’ve heard stories I heard that you loved it when the ocean kissed your feet and eased you of all your worries That apples, bananas, papaya, and mangoes Would fall from their trees just to be in your presents And that chupacabras were your pets Hungry for the flesh of your enemies But all they had to eat were the fears of your people So don’t listen to the stories that you hear when you put your ear to lips of the ocean For all you will receive is sweet nonsense Because other islands are hater And write incorrect novels about you Now don’t take it the wrong way It’s just that they don’t know what you have been through Neither do I But you can tell me face to face when we meet for the first time My land My people My beautiful Native American people I am a failure For I have lost touch your language And your language was nature But how could I loose touch with her When she gave birth to me Giving up all that she had just to keep me safe and warm She is a mother A real mother Because she does not care about anything but her children And we are all her children For she gave us life So she should have the right to take it I can still remember hearing stories about this woman This sweet, young, beautiful, and graceful woman So elegant and compassionate she was Later renown as my world She would never question her GOD Or try to give him the blame for any of her problems She was a gift Better yet She was a present A present to the world and all who shall inhabit it And I was so lucky to have been able to call her grandma And my American culture Your living it
Posted on: Sun, 29 Jun 2014 20:38:29 +0000
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