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Omar Kawash Oct 2014
But how do I communicate
a word that lacks an English translation?
A feeling so essential to my well-being?
One that this
culture
denounces,
dejects,
despises
so easily,
Without changing what I look like in your eyes?
Hesitation of true affection

Amae, I want to share with you.
A home, not a house.
The mother's loving concern.
The safety of knowing that it is okay.
You'll be there and I
presume you will.
And this gives me shivers to imagine;
indulgence of security.

But that's codependent
Check the DSM-V.
I think the APA is wrong.
I challenge over 137,000 who seem to agree
that my need for people is
disorder,
disease,
debilitation.

Because I can see through a window in my heart,
that shows me a world coexisting;
once realized
we need each other
because we are human.
We want to live harmoniously, in unison.
I want to care of my fellow man.
I am celebrated for aspirations
of massaging the soul,
fixing the whole,
dedicated to them all.

Why is it so wrong that some days,
I'd like to be on that side of the spectrum?
Amae, Amae, *Amae
Alternate beginning:

"How am I supposed to explain?
Feelings that lack literal translations?
Something so vastly important to me?

My *honne* that will give me the peace I seek.
I want to remove this mask the rest of the world deals with,
my *tatemae.*
But these are foreign words.
I can give you an idea of what they mean
*Enryo*, I wish I did not experience."

Should that go in, or stay as is? I excised these stanzas because I thought it would be too many ideas at once being discussed. Thoughts?
Astrid Jun 2019
Wane is a shawl, i've stripped off
From the virulent heat.
Vain i've milled and crumbled
And poured into junket you'll eat.
Feast is a bait.
(I'm desirefully sanctite)
Feast is a bait–
Raged adverse hands
Gripped your neck ın lust of  suffocation

Polished mirror–
Nearby, just the wall divides
Bleak downswinging "nation"
Scrabing and crawling your hedge.
With malicious "regards",
Prominent vein,
Incinirate to ashes...by a cressels.
They are labourers
Who manure your ****** plains.
Polished mirror–
Bleeding river
Where your reflection is sublime
But decreasing, due to drought
(And dignity's profaned...)

Conscience dejects and impens,
Disables foul-souls to feast.
Dissapears in sudden–
Purified and peeled.
Cravings and ruinous temptations are rules,
Untill it's pestilent and boresome
And you beg for its rooting back
And returning.

Feast is a bait.
Admires hypocritical:
Human trade,
Quench of "Mature duration"
Truth gyrates from ear to ear– abruption.
Thats's how nobility cracks as a high-grade crystal,
But decayed grade.
Feast is a bait–
Raged adverse hands
Gripped your neck – one second to  suffocation.

— The End —