"mambo" poems
**I have an issue
One that weighs heavily upon my heart
One that, if left unchecked, threatens to tear our social moral fiber apart
An issue I will express in English, with some help from my old friend *Swahili
Hii imenisumbua akili, kwa hivyo kuiongelea ni kitu tunastahili
Hii story ya immorality tunaichukulia so so light
Dem akiji'expose kidogo mbele ya kamera haina mseo, tunampandisha cheo kwa society, all of a sudden ye ni socialite
The new cool, eti ‘good girl gone bad’
Hiyo njaro siyo polite*
We have a lot more to live for than that which we seem to be aware of
It’s not always about a good time, or lack thereof
Our reputation as a culture I believe is something we badly need to take care of
*Siyo game
Siyo Jokes
Si eti mambo na fame*
It shouldn’t just be about who drinks, who smokes, who vomits and who chokes
*Hiyo lifestyle siyo dope
Na siyo right*
Six hundred and seventy something ways to die… choose one
I refuse to go… speeding down a highway, drunk out of my mind, on another booz run
However, I may not exactly be the right person to point out how messed up you are
On a scale of one to ten?
I’m probably as guilty as you are
******
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 3:33 AM UTC
*He didn't listen hence he did stumble
He lost all his stake in one big gamble
For he called my advise mere mambo jambo
Till he finally saw the game end at an angle
for he no longer watched, his heart did rumble
He's now silent with regret and humble
for they who think they know the jungle
meet with uncertainty, and get eaten like mango
He lost all his stake in a giant gamble
chasing after the big win,the bundle
Now even in sleep all he does is mumble
his regret and stress, though he says he can handle
I see despair in him as hope does dangle
For the future's a locked door, a dark tunnel
After he lost all his stake in one big gamble
he wears gloom as beautifully as a bangle*
Feb 7, 2016
Feb 7, 2016 at 5:44 PM UTC
I wanna dance the mambo,the cubin cuba mambo,
I wanna dance the cha cha,hips movement with the cha cha!
or maybe try the salsa, deep ,sensual, is the salsa.
I wanna dance the samba,the fun brazilian samba,
or maybe the lambada,brazilian hot lambada!
My favourite s' the tango,intense ****** tango,
Lost in the flamenco,ardent spanish flamenco.
May even try the polka,high energy in polka,
the Czech bohemian polka!
I wanna go and party,good time ,dancing the rumba,
latino americano,cubano, africano.
I wanna do the hip hop,hip hop,hip hop,don't stop.
Dance reign in the ballroom,
as I dance the Ball Room,under and above,
With you ,I dance my last dance,the classic dance of love.
Are you ready partner ?
Nov 9, 2010
Nov 9, 2010 at 2:54 AM UTC
Stay away from the voodoo, love.
Resist
the swamp music
the bells on her ankles
her feathered fan
and when she sways
at the hip—
goddess of sudden changes
patroness of prostitutes
and abandoned lovers—
chanting Mambo, terrible beauty.
Say nothing
when she leans close
(cinnamon, tree bark and, faintly, smoke)
and breathes
*If you have no altar,
I am your altar.*
Stay away from the voodoo, love—
her drumbeats and cypress trees,
her hocus pocus
honeylocust.
Dec 25, 2010
Dec 25, 2010 at 6:03 PM UTC
While My Guitar Gently Sleeps
boogie woogie is on my mind
my toe tapping a thousand times
slapping snare and top hat crash
back to sleep dreamy night fade away
is it a festival of jazz marching by
raz-ma-taz New Orleans style
clarinet and trumpet and tuba blow
blind melon singing do-dah do-dah-day
Latin fever makes me thrash
trying to remember the tricky steps
the cha-cha of the island girls
watching how the shapely hips sway
Spanish marimba mambo twist
taps clacking as the flamenco flies
big box acoustic cat gut strings
fingers twitching wanting to play
square dance cowgirls and dudes strut
thumbs in their pockets stomping boots
fiddles and steel race through my heart
gonna do it all do it all someday
roll over and change the world another day
dreamy night fade away once again
screaming guitars in triple tones
while my guitar gently sleeps away
Gomer LePoet...
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 3:45 PM UTC
Do not bother me with your absurd theories;
Reason, logic, and evidence have no place
In the heart of the true and righteous believer.
Faith in holy texts should be your guide,
Your faith should be blind, unadulterated, and quintessential, or
Risk a dreadful and eternal damnation.
If Einstein knew so much
Why do they call his premise the “Theory of Relativity”?
If Darwin was so sharp, why is it the most
He could up with was the “Theory of Evolution”?
The answer is simple, they really had no clue,
They simply did some scientific research and, in the end,
They came up with nothing more than theories.
And, what about all those archeologists
Claiming the earth is billions of years old, or
Cosmologists with their “Big Bang Theory.”
Everything is nothing more than
Theories, theories, theories.
Turn your back on these absurdities;
Trust, instead, the ancient, sacred texts
That offer immutable, unquestionable truths.
How ludicrous the idea that
The world is more than 10,000 years old,
(Carbon dating of fossil rocks is just mambo-jumbo)
The universe and all creation
Were made in six days,
God, tiring after all that work,
(Wouldn't you after working 24/6?)
Rested on the seventh day.
It's there in black and white,
For everyone to see.
(Assuming you've read the right version)
Men were created from a clod of clay,
(Or mud, but you get the point)
Women from the rib of man
(Which is why they should be subservient to men).
What nonsense from biologist and paleontologist
That claim we evolved from micro-organisms and apes,
This notion is total sacrilege, a blasphemy.
Life is too complicated, too complex to just evolve,
Intelligent Design is the only answer,
All the talk to the contrary is nonsensical hyperbole.
God made everything happen.
Read the holy texts, the truth is as obvious,
As plain as the tip of your nose.
Everyone knows that all the anthropological data,
All the purported archeological digs,
With reports of dinosaurs and missing links,
Are fabricated to fit nerd scientists' preconceived notions of
What they would like everyone to believe.
When in doubt, refer to the holy texts,
You will see all the unsubstantiated, ludicrous claims
For what they really are:
Trash, trash, and more trash.
Do not bother me with your facts, or
Your scientific data or findings;
In the end, everything boils down to more idiotic theories.
Have unquestioning, blinding, and total faith,
Read the holy texts and they will set you free.
So, the next time someone questions your beliefs,
Claiming there is no merit or facts to support them,
Remind them that to question the word of God
Will send them, along with their theories,
Straight to hell.
Amen!
Oct 1, 2010
Oct 1, 2010 at 6:19 PM UTC
for Nave
Busyness makes one idiotic and forgetful. And we nearly sunk the night
didn’t we darling, leaning on the wrong swing.
(It is always the peach tree.) Katrina doing her Harpy on Fullblast thing
with such deftness and professionalism she leaves us no room to respond
to legs and offers of spread cheese. And poets cave in like lonely black holes
if they cannot response as fully as they have peaches in their coffers to do so,
or at least they think so and so do we so I escaped to shower, and tried to make
the water hot enough to round me straight again, but my skin still gets in the way.
I wanted to peel off everything and douse my soul straight in the hot and the lavender, questing
for a readiness beyond the pale, some state rare, and infinitely usuable.
It was only when, and this is true, when I decided to make a list of
why I love you that the water went in
and the lavender grew instantly between my toes. And Rosemarey Clooney
danced you in to me and you were a happy Papa at last, and we knew enough. And there
was finally room enough to
mambo home.
Jan 14, 2012
Jan 14, 2012 at 7:07 AM UTC
****lovely Saturday morning....
might we dance a bit today
to ease off some sadness?****
DANCE
(A repost...some editing done)
The neighbor's stereo was playing tango music
too loud, it made me look at my red painted toes...
i realized, my feet hadn't even swayed
for so long now,
they've grown timid...and wary
All i want is to dance,
to be safe, warm,
close to one, as close as
cheek to cheek,
go left, then right,
lean, cling, then hold hands,
be held on the waist,
dip, then circle gracefully,
and step, a stretched arm away,
be brought closer once again,
hearing clearly the sighs
as the music reaches a high.
But, it was a chicken dance i had joined then,
the shaking and jiggling were so
repulsive...convulsive...confusing.
it mattered not who fell out of the beat
the desire waned,
fires die,
fires died, alright.
My feet are raring to swing back,
to be alive once more
on life's dance floor
no more falls, trips or missteps this time
just steps with a slower beat
with more grace now,
who knows,
this could be my best dance
ever!
This has got to feed my jazzy mood
play my chosen music
maybe do the shimmy for a while,
then shift to the bossa nova,
swing to its cool, hip-py rhythm.
Whatever the beat may be,
my partner and i,
we shall blend in while we do the mambo,
the rumba, cha-cha, even tap dance,
to celebrate this new chance on life.
I only wish that on our first dance together,
we may dance the samba on the wide floor,
let the hours fly by.
Then, with a waltz, we'll take it easy
until we finally get weary,
until we decide....to slow drag
the night away.
************
Sally
Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Oct 2, 2015
Oct 2, 2015 at 11:23 PM UTC
I am left in the forrest to die, a battered runaway slave, until a swamp mambo saves my life with some herbs and love over time, but I cannot let go of the fact she brought me back from the precipice of death, so for the rest of her breath I serve and protect her with honor and respect.
I am an ancient Chinese nobleman betrothed to a bride for more money and land, except I'd rather spend the time with a common woman because she makes me feel and opens me up, but in the end I choose the power, and to my horror the bride has the woman's family removed from life.
I am a suave satyr, a boisterous and joyous half-goat who prefers the light of night, a rapscallion nymph chaser whose frenzied bacchanalia rife with wild ****** an ecstatic ******* even though a had a penchant for this shapeshifter whose eyes lifted me beyond an echo in time.
As an oracle, I am only beholden to the gods though I don't think the Kings and Queens understand my sister and me. Our feminine bodies flicker and dance in shadows, embers aglow as we flow between each other's souls and worlds to bring words of wisdom through smoke visions and hieroglyphic poems.
I am a Viking, tired and hurt, our ship burns as my ****** body is momentarily buoyed in the frigid watery deep, proud yet ready to sleep until I realize this is my final battle yet won't reach Valhalla as I drown, the freezing drink slowly chokes my veins, the sound fades.
I feel free, a wild dakini gypsy between dimensions and time, with my sisterly crew of hypnotizing pirates making no bones what we want from the clients as our razor sharp bodies and piercing eyes cut through souls so we may outshine each other in stories and diamonds.
Dec 24, 2014
Dec 24, 2014 at 7:37 PM UTC
The other night I snuck into the Grammys
It really wasn't that hard you see
I was dressed as the Daft Punk dude on the left
My own mother wouldn't have recognize me
I was on the elevator at the Ritz-Carlton
When one of those robots stepped in by himself
So I knocked him out then tied him up
And left him bundled up in the stair well
I put on the suit and the helmet
It's not hard to fake a french accent in those
The only problem I encountered that evening
Was the strong desire to scratch my nose
You know I was the life of the party
Mingling with all of the stars
For awhile I sat in the row with Shawn and Yoko
Still don't know which ones from Venus and which ones from Mars
I'm sure in the circles that those two hang with
They are as normal as all of the rest
Of course most of the rockers I met that night
Put normality to the test
I was a little nervous about preforming
But I just put my boogie shoes on
The only one there who would notice my radical rhythm
Was Stevie and he couldn't see what was going on
When we went up to accept our award
I waved and mumbled under my breath
I must of made it sound mighty profound
As the crowd all clapped and nodded their heads
I really had the best of times that night
Partying like it was 1999
Prince wasn't there but who really cares
When your behind Beyonce in the Mambo line
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 7:37 AM UTC
Their eyes locked glances at the club
and both knew that, very soon,
their horizontal Mambo starts
back in his suite of rooms.
A hot, slow dance,
One night's romance,
a glass ( or two) of wine.
He's first ballot Hall of Fame
and she is very fine.
Avoiding Paparazzi
they slip out a back door
The famous baseball player
and the girl called Belle Dejour
Aug 17, 2012
Aug 17, 2012 at 7:13 AM UTC
Nothing can compete
with this heartbreak grief
Nothing can relieve
the sorrow that lies in me
Now that you're gone
the death inside only speaks
I weep,
as my tears creep down my hollow shell of a face
The thought of you
leaves me in a
cold, dark
place...
I wish I could erase
all memories of you,
But once loved,
will always be loved
Oh,
Only if you
knew
Every Mambo,
Every peep
Every actual words that I speak
Will always stay true
No promise to my love
Can I undo
I can fight the battle
But battling the fight,
Without the love of my life
I can not possibly be put through
"It's the magnitude,
that leads me back to
you."
Feb 10, 2016
Feb 10, 2016 at 3:16 PM UTC
You've got to have some rhythm if you're going to boogie down.
At the latest tango hotspot at the Roxy in the town.
The principles of foxtrot and the sways of swing will show.
That dancing with your heart will always make your passion flow.
When the bossa nova starts and the lady sings the blues.
The time is now to shake your hips and don your dancing shoes.
You trip the light fantastic, your shoulders shake in time.
Your fingers snap and feet will tap along to mambo rhyme.
The rumba stirs the frenzy of your heart in Latin beats.
You feel the crazy samba in the footsteps on the streets.
Your ready for your spotlight doing cha cha cha and jive.
You can never stop the lindy hop to keep your soul alive.
Apr 17, 2018
Apr 17, 2018 at 5:27 AM UTC
Dance
The neighbor's stereo was playing tango music
too loud, it made me look at my red painted toes.
I realized, my feet have not even swayed
for so long now,
they've grown timid and wary
of making the wrong step.
All i want is to dance,
to be safe, warm,
close to one, as close as
cheek to cheek,
go left, then right,
lean, cling, then hold hands,
be held on the waist,
dip, then circle gracefully,
and step, a stretched arm away,
be brought closer once again,
hearing clearly the sighs
as the music reaches a high.
But, it was a chicken dance i had joined then,
the shaking and jiggling were so
repulsive...convulsive
confusing.
it mattered not who fell out of the tempo.
the desire waned,
fires die,
fires died, alright.
My feet are raring to swing back
to be alive once more
on life's dance floor
no more falls, trips or missteps this time
i'd like to dance with a slower beat
with more grace now
who knows,
this could be my best dance
ever!
This has got to feed my jazzy mood
play my chosen music
maybe do the shimmy for a while,
then shift to the bossa nova,
swing to its cool, hip-py rhythm.
Whatever the beat may be,
my partner and i...
we shall blend in......be it mambo,
the rumba, cha-cha, even tap dance,
to celebrate this new chance on life.
Together,
we shall dance the samba on the wide floor,
let the hours fly by.
Then, with a waltz, we'll take it easy
until we finally get weary,
until we decide
to slow drag
the night
away.
*************
Sally
Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 11:24 PM UTC
Waves snap along
the moonlit shore
as a T-Rex bass line
carries ’The Mambo Sun’
through my soul and out
across the dream crested
Atlantic
Right here
Right now
I am free
Nirvana is made up
of moments such as
these
Oct 3, 2010
Oct 3, 2010 at 5:40 PM UTC
Tonight, the midnight wind
offers a nostalgic rush
of something I’m unsure ever existed.
I’m transported back the late 1800’s,
deep in the New Orleans south.
Sweaty, I can smell the rain approaching.
The rustling oak tress with Spanish moss sway
in the gray skies.
I’m assisting a powerful Mambo,
chopping her fire wood
Finding certain plants.
Cooking her meals
when she feels too drained.
Cause of my help, she’s made sure
I’m protected
from all the seen and unseen
mysteries of the world.
As thunder strikes in the past
I can’t help but think of the ceremonies—
Dancing,
The drums echo
Our feet shake the wooden planks.
The drums echo
And we are dancing—
dancing ‘till our legs throb
dancing ‘till our lungs explode.
We scream ‘till our ears bleed—
‘till our head hurts.
Anxiously we await possession.
That seems like my life once.
At least, that’s what the wind tells me.
Jul 31, 2011
Jul 31, 2011 at 8:03 AM UTC
****** is so subtle in english society
that you almost seem to enjoy it
as if a comeback, but instead
what you should be expecting
is finding Las Vegas in a can of sardines;
those G.I.s were really thirsty on **** juice,
at war they used to drink the preservative oils
keeping the sardines hardly handy, thinking
of their girlfriends... mm meow moo oo.
spoke the tongue for 22 years and they still
think i have a Romanian accent...
lucky ************* i too thought i was sending
the Brits back to the concentration camps
of construction sites... no wait... there's
an office argument: we need new toasters among
other digital applications to push the button...
send in the chemical brothers... and a few Jamaican monkeys
should you have forgotten your riff of:
oom sah la la... sa la la see'h mambo'h;
hey, keep the bald eagle handy on your shoulder,
you never know when it might become a skin eagle.
May 27, 2016
May 27, 2016 at 9:39 PM UTC
*it's like they're feeding themselves the line: things i should have said / thought about / cared about... me? bring on the woodwinds and saxes and violins... like the other day, they really wanted to make the classical music scene pretty by enforcing a weird post-colonial theory of how composers and musicians should be black once in the while, i dig that the japanese just love chopin, but come on: john coltrane, sonny clark, miles davis, cannonball adderley? who the hell wants it to look pretty, like a half-wit beauty of a woman: i want it mandible, not porcelain... next thing you'll be telling me is that a donkey can moo... jazz is an impromptu get-together, it's not an impromptu scribble scribble scribble readying a bunch of ponce ******** to sit it out stiff in a grand music hall - when i went to see swan lake by tchaikovsky the crowd clapped so frequently without a clear moment of aspiration to feel the music... plus i think ballet ruins the music, all that stomping, it's not an art-form, but an encircling stampede: plus i think it's also a sadism; rumba cha cha cha mambo cha cha cha tango cha cha cha foxtrot cha cha cha.*
after qualifying to be listening
to b.b.c. radio 4, after all the ponce
of classic f.m., i find that
people listening to radio 4
are craving a schizophrenic simulation,
they're the ones who never
cried listening to a piece of music,
they want company...
honest to god, schizophrenics (ego shrapnel)
complain about the symptom of
"hearing" voices (yes, the sense needs
ambiguity)... while those on
the b.b.c. radio 4 diet always want
company, they're not prone to liking
thinking... the world's weirdest simulator;
i'll admit it, even the cheesiest pop
music makes me feel like candy floss
in comparison to middle-age depth of talk.
Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 6:23 AM UTC
To be fair, this superstitious stuff
Goes a helluva long way back.
It was around the time of Babel
That the Israelites lost all track
Of logic and reason in the books
They were peddling as God’s word.
Oh, okay, they were just passing on
Mesopotamian stories they heard
But then to start calling it all
The voice of the spiritual over-mind
Means we are expected to be
Sort of intellectually deaf and blind.
Even if one can accept things like
A snake that talks and wheedles
I think accepting talking bushes
Requires stuff in hypodermic needles.
I think you have confused
Your Jehovah with Santa.
They are not the same thing.
Let me hear you say hallelujah!
Some of your traditions are
Verging on the weird and funny
When you peddle stories
About an egg-laying bunny.
And that basket of fishes
To feed a thousand was dumb.
In prehistoric Israel, just where
Did those freeloaders come from?
That strange ‘water into wine’ thing
Would be banned by law today.
Jesus, as evangelical moonshiner?
The authorities would put him away.
But that’s all fine and good if
One personally deems it to be so,
This claiming to run daily life
By words memorized long ago.
Since some of it makes sense
It may be easier to just ignore
Things like wizards and magic
As something from long before.
Evidence today says nobody lived
For eight hundred years and such.
But things like facts don’t seem
To bother religious people that much.
So, have at it, you spooky folks
With your symbols and mystery
Just save your breath if you think
You’ll get acceptance from me.
Apr 29, 2016
Apr 29, 2016 at 2:11 AM UTC
It came so unexpected
the call of music low
'for I knew I was affected
I started soft and slow
It moved within my chest
as though another heartbeat
a command behind my breast
brought me rising from the seat
and sent my body swaying
to the plucky, steady tone
of mambo music playing
resounding through my bone
my foot stepped sideways
the movement flowing through
forsaking the ballets
of angels that I knew
And in that moment when
the world was mine alone
I found myself again--
the sacred truth unknown
Jul 4, 2010
Jul 4, 2010 at 10:14 AM UTC
Single at 40
Welcome to the lurid world
Monica
Kay
Lecia
‘It’s pronounced Leesha’
She says
FWB
Pictures
Texts
‘Can you come over now?’
Veronica
Ginny
Stacy
38
32
35
41
29
All ages
Who’s number is that?
‘What are you doing right now?’
NSA
‘You want to go to a movie sometime?’ I ask.
She looks at me funny
‘I don’t have time for a movie. Same time tomorrow?’
I have just one question for all:
Where were you when I was 17?!
Feb 1, 2018
Feb 1, 2018 at 1:01 PM UTC
We heard there are poor people with money
And as Republicans, we don’t find that funny.
At first we thought it was a horrible joke
They’re supposed to be broke.
A kind of liberal poke.
We’re the elite, the complete package.
The blue ribbon, the absolute cream.
Don’t say we’re not or we’ll scream.
We know we’re right
Because we’re white.
So, dance the Republican Mambo
We’re the real Americans by Jingo!
Just like Billy Rose’s Jumbo
We dominate the dance floor
But that is what we live for.
We mow down opposition like Rambo.
Don’t question us again
Just send your money in
Get paper and pen quickly
And send money to the RNC!
Yes, we let a few of the other kind in
But only when we have to now and then.
They are exceptions of note
Designed to get the vote.
They’re each a Judas goat,
And they speak by rote.
Darwin said it well, even though he’s a fake
Survival of the fittest means we can take
Everything and everyone we may see
And knock them to their knees;
Grind them up mercilessly!
We get everything we see.
So, dance the Republican Mambo
We’re the real Americans by Jingo!
Just like Billy Rose’s Jumbo
We dominate the dance floor
But that is what we live for.
We mow down opposition like Rambo.
Don’t question us again
Just send your money in
Get paper and pen quickly
And send money to the RNC!
Apr 15, 2018
Apr 15, 2018 at 2:05 PM UTC
Milk a cow of all its milk
Milk a cow of all its milk.
Silk feels like a Dairy Milk Silk.
Fire your conscience and burn in Hell’s eternal fire.
Hire yourself a team of lawyers, if you decide to get any higher.
Mean what you say, but don’t be too mean.
Leave a puddle of tears in a tantrum,
When you have had enough of smoking your leaves.
Times they are a changing. I think it’s a sign of the times.
March to war to administer peace,
Before the funeral march in March.
Water down your bottled water,
Before you get a problem like before.
Mother Nature is trying to tell you,
It’s time for you to become a Mother.
Dance a dance of lust and romance,
With anyone who loves you to dance.
Build up your hopes and fill up their lives;
Be happy together in the restaurant, before you get the bill.
Daughters don’t trust anyone;
For even a saint can bring the slaughter to your daughter.
Dress a Queen in a wedding dress.
An ant is still just an ant, even if you have named it Anne.
Break a promise to yourself of independence.
Fix it up with make believe and find a new romance;
A new way to dance the horizontal mambo.
Work for free, to find release,
Of money causing problems…Oh!
And don’t forget to quadruple,
Your first and last by-pass.
Sell your soul to Santa Claus;
Mom’s gone to Iceland to buy some Reindeers in packs.
Phone home E.T., there is no-one home.
Speak a little louder, use a megaphone.
Space – The Final Frontier.
If you need to find some space;
Face the music, sing an encore,
Replace your hate with a smiley face.
(C)2011 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Apr 18, 2018
Apr 18, 2018 at 4:53 PM UTC
tell you why your kite is dead. i'll tell you why you sing flat.
this is what i do gently even though the tide against me, is Sparta on crack.
you don't recall our fierce love, the oblivion mambo of our singular act !
are you sure you don't forget too better remember how
you wish you felt about that ?
Oct 14, 2011
Oct 14, 2011 at 11:58 PM UTC
I’ve been running to the shore, to the sunset, to the sand
where my toes and the breeze compose a symphony in secret
it starts piano, almost pianissimo, no one has to know that we,
We share the talent, the gift of an emotional crescendo
that we all stamp our feelings on staffs and our hearts are in sync
in sync we are always we are always following the smooth tempo of
time and we’re just all harmonizing with the beach
with the muffled sopranos that flutter around someone who waltzes
with a guitar between their arms, in an alley filled with graffiti
in a salty atmosphere and fresh beans and rice
A little mambo here and there while strolling
down the piano tiles that make up the streets
a little mambo here and there, to keep us going
pianissimo, we must keep it pianissimo
so the world won’t know… yet… that we’re all an impromptu group
we are all interconnected, living under the same staff but different clefs
rarely sharing the beats of our cultures
rarely following canons
it always vibrates, the lingering nostalgia
buzzing, missing the old jazz and the shores, sunsets, and sands
that we shared in our old homes, away from here
We hope it makes sense that our lives are ran in decrescendo
but the connections within each other always form the same ensemble
percussion and wind, forming the shore we stand in front of
the orchestra itself becoming the sand slipping from our hands
and we form the sunset, the sunset that leads everyone here
we all know how we go back home.
Jun 18, 2017
Jun 18, 2017 at 5:58 PM UTC