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girl diffused Oct 2017
my mother told me
you christen a home
in her island-country
you take a chicken
behead it with a sharpened knife
slit it cleanly across the neck

let blood splatter untainted
earth and burn incense
let the burning bush
stink and permeate the freshly
erected walls, seep into the wood
seep into the tiling

purify it
make it your own home
somehow
somehow
i think that's beautiful
In Jamaica, there is an uncommon spiritual practice known as "obeah." In other Afro-Caribbean islands and in Louisiana, in the states, it is referred to as "voodoo." The mysticism and pantheon of gods of old permeate the historical fabric of this ancient and frowned-upon tradition.

The methodical slaughter of a chicken and the splattering of blood on the earth is believed by some to help bless the land that the home would be built upon. The belief was that the blood would purify the soil...make it sanctified. Additionally, it was also believed that in order to purify the home one would need to burn incense. My mother, when she was recalling this tale to me of the people who still do it, mentioned that she had thought of burning incense in our as-of-yet unfinished home.  No incense was burnt. No chickens were slaughtered. It is honestly done with reverence and although the slaughtering is seen as cruel by some or would be seen that way, for an ancient custom that is still respected, one of the few still practiced by some on the islands, it is seen as...a good option. Just a little backstory on the poem's origins.

Also the purification could also denote purifying one's body. As I was writing this, I thought of how we practice certain rituals to do this. We "burn out" certain toxins and cleanse our blood of impurities. We drink detoxifying drinks, hydrate ourselves with water,  go one diets, and refrain from eating certain carbs and sugars. Some of us treat our body as a home to be cleansed. Some of us do not.

I think the juxtaposition of the image of blood, earth, the death of an animal...its sacrifice for the sake of blessing a land, a home, a family in relation to one's body is interesting. My hope is that I married the two concepts together in a way that is understandable to you and that you may find a piece of my culture to be interesting. If you don't, at least you learned something new. :D

xoxo
Rajnish Mishra Jun 2017
Life-long have I envied others many a line,
Will someone ever envy
One of mine?
My verse born now,
Fresh - dead until read.
Someone, anyone, yes, you -
If only you read it!

Would you call it just fine?
Would it not be dead.
Not dead if read?
Not when, but if?
Not good or bad just read?

I thought of writing lines for you:
Of beauty, of strength, of truth.
A song, just one;
Of hope, of inspiration.
Lines on those themes come rarely now,                                                                                                                                               To write that way in these times is a sin.

These vacuous, vacant, little, listless times.
What use of such pursuits,
In a world like ours,
What’s false, what’s true?
Hate, anger, frustration:
Are themes right for you.

My poems although shallow
From my heart’s depths rise.
They lack in the mass of meaning
Have volume of words.
Not style but sense, nor craft but art.

Who wants to say
Just what they want to say, and stop,
When it’s just begun,
Not half the distance run?
When how it's said,
For how long heard, is half the fun?
Jawad Apr 2017
Dough
On stones,
On fire
Sweat and focus
And swagger
And a cup of tea;
Out comes the crusty
Steaming flatness
The lines are waiting for
With patience;
Few coins
For a treasure!
I wrote this today while waiting in the line to buy some 'Sangak'.
Yasaman probably knows what I am talking about, but
for all who don't, watch this please:
https://goo.gl/zWhxXk
Journey of Days Apr 2017
these times are precious
you cannot see it now
but you will come to appreciate the time
the just being here
with us
just hanging out
no pressure, judgement, or expectations

these times are essential
so you can be yourself
with those who love you
and accept who you are
even when you look like that and smell...well...interesting

these times will sustain you
when you are far away
doing your thing and living a life
building your own traditions
that these times prepared you for

@journeyofdays
when your kids are getting older and thinking they are too cool for family holidays together
RED
When the entire sky was blue, you added a heavenly warmth to it.

You entered the bride's forehead,
And you gave her a new family.  

You fell and splashed
on the leaves,
Autumn was called Fall after that !

Mixed your tint with Moon,
People smelled it like
Potpourri.

Red,
You are the color of birth.
The Color of a beginning to
The color of a river running
inside us, You symbolize
All the aspects of life.

Especially the thing which holds us together, Love.
Without you, there is neither roses or kisses.

You bring out the best
With your scarlet touch
Even on the Sun,
That sets in the west.
Kevin Feb 2017
if your reading this and see my point.







learn to break from tradition when it no longer serves.
No rush of the bulls
filled these narrow cobbled streets
where tradition and
songs sounded over pinxos,
and stories of San-Fermin.
We celebrate annually a time of new.
Like time itself is a new concept.
Millions of people celebrating one moment
to hold the rest in our sweet memories
As if this one party could capture life's wrath
and life's breath in one glimpse.
Why celebrate now?
When every gasp of breath
is a feat in itself worthy of kings.
When time ticks every other precious moment
we mope around and wait till time ends
for us to spill out our gratitude for what was.
In the end of time, we list what we could fix about the past
when the past has gone into the void of the nothing.
I challenge you to a new resolution,
a revolution of tradition
worthy of breaking.
Embrace each hour
each minute and second
with the same exuberance
as the first, the middle, and last
like no other moment before.
With all the moments you breath;
as the sun rises and sets
and loved ones descend into the darkness.
Do not wait till next year.
Party like no other celebration ever to come,
for no celebration is inevitable.
Withhold nothing, but let the droplets drip
And cluster and dry and age.
Speak in reverse so no one understands.
Let the steam build and collect
Until the pistons break
And the whistle resounds
Pierce shrill rising and rising and slowing.
Moving up and up into nothing,
Forgotten. Erased.
An imprint in smoke.
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