I looked at her thought, why did she do
That and what was she going through
Then tried to look from her position
Just the way he taught me to
And decided to fogive her
Like I always do
And let her repeat it again
For a times few
Holding my cheek I looked at him
Tried to remember what I did
I looked into his eyes and saw
What he saw from standing there
And followed the ways to hold my tear
Then, I looked from his perspective
And decided that him I'd forgive
Just to let him deceive
I was taught to see it for others
Doesn't matter how much it bothers
And I always do it
No matter what it costs me
No matter how many times they deceive
I will always have to forgive
No matter how much they hurt me
I will always have to see
"Learn to see from others side,
Try to make your view wide."
But when I asked,
"If I'm the one to see others
Whose there to see mine?"
The answer I got was
Here is a plant that could cut your thumb
From a strange frond does it become
With its pieces cut fresh
It can disolve your flesh
We'll give it to you as a sign of welcome
I suspect the custom grew out of a misunderstood backhanded insult.
Who Wouldn’t Mind Being Remembered?
Who wouldn’t mind being remembered?
It’s not the same as wanting fame -
Naiveté’s vanity its other name.
Who wouldn’t mind some impact?
An itch to reach out
Maybe teach, knowing one knows so little –
Naught at all – We are so small.
But art is there,
And impulse wants from within wants out,
Shouts quietly with word
When you yourself have disappeared.
Who Wouldn’t Mind Being Remembered? 8.16.2017
Birth, Death & In Between II;
Think of all the burial & after-death customs.
No rush of the bulls
filled these narrow cobbled streets
where tradition and
songs sounded over pinxos,
and stories of San-Fermin.
Searching amongst a trifling heap!
Bear your watch ~
And gear your gaze,
Realize this dangerous maze.
Through the brush,
Along the hills,
Stands a little shack..
An outcast with a knack~
No one could understand this very odd man.
Yet even to reach him on foot or on yak
It would mean you must
Lead away and carve your very own tracks.
Where to go, following the road no one goes?
What to see or to learn, exploring what no one knows?
Speak! unique star of the universe,
Tell your stories of the beautiful adventure,
That only you chose..
You could dance or stand still,
Sit on solid ground or climb a sand hill!
Talk in verse
Or reverse your curse and present your prose
Into a rhythm only you really knowss
Look, let me stop..
I admit, I'm just an ordinary man.
~Thanks for everyone's kind comments~
The sugâ galantly stand around
with their spears
Dressed in goat ' s skin with painted
faces and hair
Their countenance say ' do not dare '
A direct contrast of the square ' s
Which is exagerated by the
tipsiness from the locally brewed
With dances the festival began in
Each dancer stamping hard to
make his beats the loudest.
The tipsy audience laughing and
cheering their best ,
Men, like chimpanzees , beating
their bare breast.
Mandiang is all, anything else is
being put to rest.
The drull drum is a - play for the
Marking the ****** of all that has
and is to chance ,
The majestic monarch march for
And the time for the rain - making
ritual to commence.
So it, at the end , rained as usual ,
The welcome crown of this annual
Mandiang is an annual event
amongs my tribe , it is that time of
the year set aside to appreciate the
past havest and hope for regular
rain and good croping season.
Sugâ is a soldier in our ancient
kingdom. NT all this now is
ceremonial with no spiritual
— The End —