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Maria Mitea Jul 2022
the dawn rises over the forest,
the dawn promised to wait for us
in the eyes of the eagle the drums smile
and dance
eagles jump up, take turns around the lake,
one round, the second  round ... fourth,
the drums hit the sky,
feathers fall off,
are falling, and
are kissing the grass, and
are kissing the earth
when the eagles come down and down
with the beak  are catching the fish
from below waters
the thundering sounds swear the waterfall to be combed by the sun
when drummers smolder all year round
like the star of the night,
smolder like coal extracted from the hearts of ojibwe people
Bansi Adroja May 2022
I like traditions
reading the same book on holiday every summer
watching Frasier re-runs with my morning coffee
going to the same restaurant on my birthday
with the same seven friends
meeting at the pub on the corner
for a white wine buzz before heading to the city

Crawling back to you like I do every time
and promising myself I won’t
Melony Martinez Feb 2021
My mother gave me a dowry
a brimming chest of treasures
a heart of rare and precious gems
she collected long ago

She filled it with her words, her thoughts
and things she knew I'd need
she piled high with hopes and dreams
priceless trinkets all for me
and topped it off with years of love
and a life of merry traditions

Then knowing that I'd need a map
by which to guide my life
she gave to me a legacy
my Bible, pure and right
and taught to me the art of prayer
a rare and genuine gift she shared

I am blessed to be a mother now
with a daughter of my own
and I can't wait to share with her
the love that I have known
Written for my mother in November 2004
We all live by the impulse of our minds.
The visions we set pace.
The ambitions we nurture.
The whistle of our missions
And here lies above us,
A bridge we must connect

Oh!  Tradition........
An entity that dares; of what spell in our minds.
Crossing the bridge always seems impossible.
Yet,  our traditions,  mostly laughable.

Sound minds lost to anxiety
Love turns a new leaf of angst
Lives witness it call to death
And yet,  a bridge we must connect.

Must we live by the traditions that ruin lives.
Certainly, what I know of
Traditions are meant to serve the people
And not people as sacrifice
For the oath of our traditions.
What a bridge we must connect!
Live by good traditions and shun life taking traditions.
Cait Apr 2020
A tragedy of the world and passage of time
of things that disappear from memory,
a pain i can not fathom.

The ones that die raging in the night,
that are unspoken for
or unheard.

The language of a people,
no longer spoken.

The traditions of a nation,
no longer practiced.

The culture of a family,
erased by time.

Things that have been eradicated
beyond life
and can never be reborn.
Things once so precious
that are almost entirely gone from the world.

How do you reconcile the genocide of a culture?
Dina Feb 2020
It is funny how the things that are too much make us feel.
Too much of a bad thing is terrible.
That is understandable.
But what about too much of a good thing?
Too much love.
Too much freedom.
Too much joy.
Why do they scare us away?
Somewhere deep down we feel like we don’t deserve too much.
Just enough.
We feel like we can’t be entrusted with such a large responsibility.
Too many options to choose from.
So many places to travel.
All the foods.
Those of us faced with this dilemma are surely the lucky ones.
Perhaps their empathy is what stops them in their tracks.
The knowledge that most people don’t get too much or even enough.
But then again there is another fear, another emotion that stops them.
It is a fear of being seen. Of being judged.
A fear of their own power.
It is funny how we can be afraid of our self.
Funny and sad.
Fear of the raw, unfiltered, undiluted power that we all have.
Our upbringing and society’s laws cage us and inhibit our magic.
The lucky ones realize this and do their best to undo the damage.
To free themselves.
The rest live like caged birds.
Singing to please their masters.
To get some food and water.
Carlo C Gomez Jan 2020
Rose was a Red
Dodgers are blue
We're stealing signs
How 'bout you?

Cheat like this
Not like that
One's okay
The other picked at

Keep to tradition
Not technology
Yeah it's confusing
So is most any ideology
M Aug 2019
The great unbreakable and unscalable walls of yore are not broken.

They just ceased to be walls.
Now just a slightly dumbfounding mist.

You pass through them like a bad smell
because they were never really there.
And those that built them
With ignorance and shame
Are long dead.

They are only an obscure memory of pain, oppression or struggle.
Lights sparkle all around
Presents sit, waiting
Paper covered in sap
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