We write of peace. while engaging in war...declare our love of the other, passionately, with a bewildering contradictory sincerity...eons ago, man picked up a rock and bashed another in the head; today we can, with cold calculation kill from greater distances and the hundreds and thousands of broken bodies lie dead...we have advanced from rocks to missiles, while we arrogantly insist, to have evolved pass our barbaric antecedents...continue to engage in hostilities and violence...a violence that has been unremitting and is the chosen method of problem resolution...our 5000 years of recorded history, reads like an epic saga of blood, gore and terror...we are like the sophomoric adult, who refuses to grow up and play nicely...the child who refuses to share his toys...with a hatred and disdain, of the other, that seems to be hardwired, in our genes...but...we are filled with outrage, when we view news stories and the evidence of this violence and the lie, is revealed...I say to you, my dear reader, my loving friends, my skeptical detractors, that we are the problem...you and I...and we must be the solution...the politicians have no payoff in solving these problems...this taxonomic squabbling rewards them richly...the gun runners, the robber barons...these bottom feeders and scavengers...it must be you and I, the ordinary person who must state quietly, or loudly, with conviction, unequivocally - no mas, no more, nicht mehr, nient'altro, não mais, אין כל יותר, niet meer, 没有, 더 이상, sόχι άλλος, لا الكثير...homo sapiens sapiens must become more than human or surely, we will all die...we must eradicate that genetic instinct to fear the other...we must breed out the fear of being different, from our genome...we must alter, on the microscopic level, the emotional level, the need to reject other tribes...we must become more than human...

Note - this is the premise for my novel...becoming more than human...

Art - http://www.prism-magazine.org/jan01/gold_rush/gold.jpg

I don't have a fascination with France
though it contains a fabled city of love
and has a vim and vigor,
an unique elegance and sophistication
unmatched anywhere
it occupies a latitude and longitude
where colonialism rared its greedy civilizing head
and snapped up Vietnam, Cambodia and Laos
Algeria, Senegal and Hispaniola
where men decided and declared
saffron silken sandlewooded sundarkened peoples and their histories
would be relegated to private collections, protectorates
where pieds-noirs* would say, it was not I
who stole your land, minerals and cultural heritage
all the while singing - "Le Chant des Africains"* and shouting with
fervour and conviction, "Viva la France"
in somebody else's country.

I don't have a fascination with England and Italy
though their cities contain museums with pieces
of man's past
stolen and looted from places, palaces and pyramids
I can scarcely pronounce
locations where the sun beat down
and burned skin red brown black
where water was worth its weight in gold
pi, astronomy, and zero were astonishing new theories and the world
was surprisingly, discovered not to be flat
by mendicants, merchants, pirates and penurious colonizer (after the fact).

I don't have a fascination with the cities of Holland or Belgium
though intrepid sailing masters sailed unexplored seas (unexplored by
Europeans only)
while scientific thought broke free of a stifling church
and these good traders and mijnheer
brought civilization to the savage
via enslavement and serfdom
sequestering him to spice, cotton, tobacco and rubber plantations
where the tolerant Dutch Golden Age
was an economic strategy
meant only for whites
while the Fleming paternalistic control
was neither familial or wise.

I don't have a fascination for the cities of Spain or Portugal
though they boast of having the one, true religion
where they burned the righteous, the different
and the heretics
on their auto de fe* flames of intolerance
all while piously looting New Lands in a New World
with New Greed
where the high grandees (oh so grand)
and the High See (such a prolific papal bull)
were yellow red brown black folk's
social and religious betters
while the elegant subversive painters,
Goya and El Greco
raged against the Spanish artistic and societal
machines.

No,
I don't have a fascination for the famous cities
of Europe
their histories and renaissances
or their remarkable architectures and towering edifices
the gilt gilded golden cathedrals,
fabulous musty museums and ancient decaying decadent castles
with treasures of books and jewels
arts and statuary
gained by theft and murder
or the desecration and plunder of tombs and graves -
booty,
all which still lays locked within these distinguished European portals
no,
I have don't have a fascination for these cities.

Notes:

1. pieds-noirs -  (plural pieds-noirs) is a term for the former
population of European descent of North Africa, especially Algeria,

2. "Le Chant des Africains" (The Song of the Africans) -is the unofficial anthem of the Pied-noir community in France and her former colonies in Africa.

3.  Auto de fe - The phrase auto de fe refers to the ritual of public penance of condemned heretics and apostates that took place when the Spanish Inquisition or the Portuguese Inquisition had decided their punishment (that is, after the trial). Auto de fé in medieval Spanish means "act of faith". The phrase also commonly occurs in English in its Portuguese form auto da fé.

art - http://www.dallasartsrevue.com/ArtSpaces/Tours/DEEP/jpugs/JR68011-tvk-am-city.jpg

like bred and typed wayward cows
they question our suitability
for their insular clubs
rejected by both
maternal and paternal villages
they fear
we will profane
their gene pools and sacred blood

we are mixed
with the hues of the desert, rain forest and savanna
the earthiness of the new world
lush with tropical fragrances
articulated with
lacquered ornamental saffron delicacies
mystical ancient graces
merged into
the sangfroid and boldness of western civilization

people have created words to describe
pigmentation
shape of the eye
nose
and ass
mulatto
mestiza
luk kreung
hapa
as if
we were half bred, half designated and half human
as if
these terms could describe
define a child's humanity
and exclude us
from their precious congress
with these creations of Wagnerian symbolic myths
to promulgate Linneas type truths
that continue
ad nauseam
to masquerade
as valid, scientific theory
never realizing
their mythology
isolates them
in shrinking tribal associations
as they cling to limpieza de sangre
their purity of blood.

I see
but am blinded by other's opinions
I breathe
but am drowning in apathy
I run
but have never been free
I fear
but need to be in control
I believe
but have lost my faith
I hope
but fear to fly
I try
but never learned to change


I am the sum of you
I am part of you
I am the rest of you
look inside
I am you
I see
but don't know a damn thing
I pray
but question my intentions
I give
but it's never enough
I think
but it has not made me wise
I rage
but have burned all my bridges
I hate
but the battle is never done
I run
but can not escape me
I am the sum of you
I am a part of you
I am the rest of you
look inside
I am you

From the Old European Faces

You are the new faces of America
representing cultures and tribes
from around the globe.
A seething mix, a furious mass
you have come here
chasing our dream
sneaking and flooding our borders,
bringing your ignorance,
third world tribal behavior,
with nothing else
but a poverty of mind
and pocket,
disdaining American culture,
yet demanding your rights
all the while,
unwilling to release ties to your old worlds.
Old worlds that spurned you,
kept you in squalor,
starving your minds and bodies,
denying a future to you
and your children;
yes,
you are the new faces of America.
You flee old, tired,
blood drenched worlds,
wave flags,
proclaiming your allegiance,
but never to America;
yearn for those countries
that suppressed and oppressed you
mutterers in a thousand languages,
never English.
Why are you here?

Yes, I am a New Face

I am the hidden serf face of America
seeking life in the land of opportunity
and plenty,
I take jobs the proud Yanqui disdains.
I am the untouchable, the dalit,
of the shudra, the lowest caste.
I, alone merit a caste classification
in your so called,
classless, casteless society.
I am your faceless gardener,
street cleaner and fast food server,
the hotel maid, the waiter
and taxi cab driver.
Yes,
I break your laws to enter this country,
when I sneak across the borders,
cowering in hot,
airless cargo containers,
navigating bodies of waters in leaky boats,
risking my life,
to escape from desolate countries
that have no future
for me and mine.
I am no different from your European ancestors
who fled religious persecution,
famine and genocide.
I know that I am nostalgic
for my country of origination
but it was the land of my naissance;
I know that I do not speak English well,
But my children will;
I know that I have a third world mentality
but my children will practice democracy;
I know I have no education
my children will have that foundation;
please,
I am just trying to survive.


Enslaved Faces

I did not come here by choice,
I sought no dreams,
expected no promises;
was dragged here screaming in chains,
whipped, starved, raped;
naked in unknown captivity;
sometimes sold by my blood kin
or stolen from my village
by grasping white faces,
to farm your fields,
suckle your white children,
clean your genteel homes,
as my children were born
and died in those fields.
I have known a woman's shame,
a man’s dishonor
a child's fear,
condemned only by melanin.
And when freedom came,
I made myself remember
that this nation slaughtered
one another to preserve an union,
not my human rights.
But the price I paid for this inadvertent freedom
was more bloodshed;
threatened by unknown masked riders,
as I died in flames
lynched on trees and crosses.
I fought for a right to vote
and live without fear
yet
three hundred years have come and passed,
and still I fight for this dream deferred.

Original Faces

This land was my land,
you came here seeking freedom,
destroyed my people with disease
and your greed to fulfill your dreams.
Foolishly,
we welcomed you with open arms,
and our histories became a trail of tears,
broken treaties, last stands,
and finally death on dismal reservations.
We cannot turn back the hands of time;
sand runs through the hourglass,
unable to defy gravity and events.
No,
time will never be stilled,
for men and fleeting nations,
as ancient grievances give way,
to new horrors and tragedies
and once more
refugees, the disenfranchised,
the pauper, and the hopeless
flood this land,
seeking life, seeking promise
wanting pieces of the dream
that you offer when you sing,
this land was made for you and me.

Shall I affirm,
that I am a human being,
born of a man and woman,
a human being, woman,
daughter, mother, lover,
tell you of how I too bleed,
laugh when happy, grieve
when tragedy strikes?
Must I fight over and over,
for my right to work, love,
live, to be able to drive,
thru your pristine vanilla streets?
Should I present my education,
flaunt my intelligence,
carefully pronounce my words,
remove my myriad of wooly braids,
taking care to not to litter my speech,
with Spanish and colorful colloquiums?
And if I bleach my skin,
straighten my nose, thin my lips,
starve my body,
when I look in the mirror,
can I be just like you?

Wanted to talk, to dialogue, exchange,
but ran into an old school color dividing brickwall
Thought it couldn't be my mocha choco lata skin
or my wiry hair that spirals wildly
untamed and unruly
that prevented you from seeing
just me?
Must have been my imagination
reliving a past
better buried , dead and forgotten
'Cause I was hoping that we could talk
we could dialogue, and exchange...

Couldn't have been the less than aquiline nose
the midnight eyes,
full lips or the broad hips,
that curve so sensuously
that made you call out nigger
instead of seeing,
just me
Cause I was hoping that we could talk,
we could dialogue, and exchange...

So instead of bleeding red, seeing red
of crying red, and of finally, dying red,
from your fears and my tears
your dreams and my screams
of your paranoia and white purdah
the casual cruelty, oh blind yanqui
Maybe one day when you grow past
your colonial prison
an inherited white man's burden,
and I can move past the rage
breaking out of this limiting cage
Perhaps then, we can talk,
we can dialogue, and exchange...

he sits in the front
periodically catching my eyes in his
rear-view mirror
nods and smiles
politely asking for directions
in his precise accented english
fingering my star of david
i surreptitiously eye the turban
and his black skin

as the scenery flashes by
the brain compares this hardworking man
to the words that nightly flash across my tv screen
jihadist terrorist muslim fundi insurgents
all three billion of them
idly
i wonder why christian fundi or jewish fundi
does not elicits such fear
their histories are equally bloody
my cabdriver
has no knowledge
of the thoughts that are in my mind

we arrive at my home
with payment and tip
in his very human hands
graciously he thanks me

i have survived a muslim-jewish encounter
just two exhausted hard workingmen
linked by a ride
in a taxi
a new paradigm, in a new land

 

This poem, was a challenge, from a friend. I have negative feelings about the constant denials from Japanese politicians and historians, regarding the Comfort Woman situation and the biological experimentation on British POWS, during World War II. The stories about the "Rape of Nanking" and how POWs were treated, fill me with rage...on a personal note, my sister-in-law is Korean and thus I also am cognizant of the slavery and abuse, of Korea, by Japan. My friend requested I approach the bombing of Nagasaki and Hiroshima, from another perspective. If nothing else, I am always game for a poetry challenge. I believe this is similar "walking in another's moccasins"...try it - I challenge all you wonderful 360 writers, to walk the walk, with me...what/who do you dislike so intensely, that seeing it/them from another perspective, is a reach...a challenge?...

Vee Ghozlan

I am one of the last of a new caste
untouchable, unmarriagable
Hibakusha
none knew of my shame
no scars marked the flesh;
though my mutated dna carried the taint
of Hiroshima and Nagasaki.
I am Hibakusha.

Humbly, one who lays dying
says to you,
not in justification or rationalization
but in grief and sorrow -
in remembrance of Perry, 1856 and his band of thieves
we vowed never again
to suffer
the threat of Western guns and dominance.

Foolishly our greed and revenge
marched hand in hand
with love for the god-emperor
when we invaded Mongolia, China,
the Philippines, Korea, Thailand, and Vietnam
enslaved their peoples
and prostituted their women and children.

Humbly I suggest to you,
American histories are tarnished, as well
we, who matched your colonial aspirations and aggressions;
witnessed as you stole Alaska, Hawaii, Guam, Micronesia and other island paradises
co-opted Central and South America, the Caribbean and Asia
competing with Euro trash and their spheres of influence.
North America was not large enough to contain your puritanical voracity or ravenousness.

So the bombs rained down
blood, pain and suffering
to the victor went the spoils;
the ashes and cinders -
divine punishment rendered by man and missiles
this sundering of our homes and lives
by atoms waged on the winds of war.
For honors sake
I should have died with the others.

I beg respectfully, victors and aggressors,
when you revise and deny your histories
when you beat your breasts, wave your flags, build your shrines,
and mourn your soldiers,
when your politicians make rousing patriotic speeches
recall
the legacies of Hiroshima, Nagasaki, Nanking and Pearl Harbor
these ashes and cinders
of our shame.
I leave behind
my final words of sorrow
a bequest from a dying Hibakusha
and a hope for peace and forgiveness.

Notes: - Hibakusha is the term widely used in Japan referring to victims of the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki

 

wilting by a wall
shrinking in silence
crouched in a crucible
and imprisoned by my Indio past
judged and branded a heretic
my heart breaks
as fear sets in
I am uncertain
about the nature of my crime
and cower
with wings clipped and clamped
I fall into a bleak despair

my spirit totem appears
dancing, flying with graceful butterfly wings
filling me with strength
imbued with courage
my convictions rekindled
I gather the dignity of my father
the hope of my mother
the love of my children
the history of my people
around my frightened body
shielded
strengthened
resolute
I turn and face you
my accusers, my torturers, my Christian betters

you want me to recant
need to save me
from what
I do not know
I scream the words
nadie es dueño de Dios
no body owns God
your Torquemada inspired torture
cannot force a confession
the fires of auto-da-fe
will burn my flesh
never my soul

my people shall not cheer my screams
or this spectacle
in a necrophilia frenzy
as I die

you seek to impose a creed
evangelize your gospel
why can you not see?
She is so big
all groups can view
Her many manifestations
I see Her in my child’s sweet smile
in the morning silence
and evening quiet
in the glimmer of my man’s loving eyes
what need have I
for your truths?
these chains you have wrapped around me
have captured
nothing more than a physical body

couched and bound by your stakes
husk broken and burned
winged,
my spirit flies free

 

a mirrored window stands in all of us
it lays between light and dark, black and white
we are situated between two man-made extremes, hands clenched, in a boxer's stance

the soul has become dichotomized
occluded by a silly dualism
few things, have only one answer
still, eyes remain repulsed by the black
it is representative of evil, prejudged colonial connotations, superstitious incantations, plagued death, masqueraded propaganda and bleak humours
while white is desirable white is good white is gentile white is smart white is pure
when viewed on the other side
reversed, substituted and regurgitated as more silly reflected shit
white becoming representative of evil, reparations, superstitious demonization's, stolen lands, and bastardized dreams
and black becomes beautiful black is now good black is now gentile black is now smart black is now pure
both equally flawed perspectives

look through this fragile pane
it is an opening, a reflection
but as a symbol of sight, the mirrored window means nothing
until we learn how to see or become as blind men
and feel the dance of colorless souls

 

 

a new poem to piss someone off, *shrugs shoulders*

he sits in the front
periodically catching my eyes in his
rear-view mirror
nods and smiles
politely asking for directions
in his precise accented english
fingering my star of david
i surreptitiously eye the turban
and his black skin

as the scenery flashes by
the brain compares this hardworking man
to the words that nightly flash across my tv screen
jihadist terrorist muslim fundi insurgents
all three billion of them
idly
i wonder why christian fundi or jewish fundi
does not elicits such fear
their histories are equally bloody
my cabdriver
has no knowledge
of the thoughts that are in my mind

we arrive at my home
with payment and tip
in his very human hands
graciously he thanks me

i have survived a muslim-jewish encounter
just two exhausted hard workingmen
linked by a ride
in a taxi
a new paradigm, in a new land

 

 

I was not born in the USA

my parents came here seeking a better life

we did not sneak across the border(s)

we did not stuff ourselves in refrigerated cars

we did not hide ourselves in containment bins aboard ships

we did not come on a visitor visa and then stay illegally

we did not apply for jobs with fake ID's

we did not demand free health care, dental care, food stamps, housing and English as second language classes

we did not march in the major cities demanding the above

 

we did however learn English

attended school and continued on to higher education

obeyed the laws of the land

worked within the system to get rid of the laws that were discriminatory

paid taxes including taxes to the legal extortion agency aka The IRS

 

my reward for being a poor upright working American citizen

is

unless pregnant, over 60, a child, disabled as recognized by the State of Washington

aka receiving welfare benefits (being diagnose with MS does not count since one has committed a faux paux, by being employed)

or an ILLEGAL ALIEN/IMMIGRANT

I am ineligible for assistance

so

since being a poor upright working American citizen entitles me to nada, zip, zilch, AKA frigging nothing

consequently

I shall fly to Mexico Guatemala Honduras Coast Rica Egypt Somalia Ethiopia Viet Nam the Philippines

or some shithole country

sneak back into the USA

and thus

be eligible

to partake in the generosity of the American government

and obtain my fair share of

free health & dental care, food stamps, housing and English as second language classes

and march, demanding even more freebies, more goodies and my rights

 

Disclaimer: I had to re-write the poem, as it was originally written in first person and people kept on misconstruing my intent. It is a criticism on clinging to past wrongs without moving into the future or allowing the past to dictate success. I guess it's obvious that I am not an affirmative action fan...~

Another disclaimer: I don't believe in race. Everytime you say "race", you buy into crap meant to denigrate people not "white" - please read on if interested in finding out where the myth of "race" stems from:

Carolus Linnaeus - the originator of the race myth

Linnaeus was a pioneer in defining a now discredited scientific concept of "race" as applied to humans. Within Homo sapiens he proposed four taxa of a lower (unnamed) rank. These categories are, Americanus, Asiaticus, Africanus, and Europeanus. They were based on place of origin at first, and later skin color. Each race had certain characteristics that were endemic to individuals belonging to it. Native Americans were reddish, stubborn, and angered easily. Africans were black, relaxed and negligent. Asians were sallow, avaricious, and easily distracted. Europeans were white, gentle, and inventive. Linnaeus's races were clearly skewed in favour of Europeans. Over time, this classification led to a racial hierarchy, in which Europeans were at the top. Members of many European countries used the classification scheme to validate their conquering or subjugation of members of the "lower" races. In particular the invented concept of race was used to enforce the inhumane institution of slavery, particularly in the new world European colonies.

In addition, in Amoenitates academicae (1763), he defined Homo anthropomorpha as a catch-all race for a variety of human-like mythological creatures, including the troglodyte, satyr, hydra, and phoenix. He claimed that not only did these creatures actually exist, but were in reality inaccurate descriptions of real-world ape-like creatures.

He also, in Systema Natural, defined Homo ferus as "four-footed, mute, hairy." It included the subraces Juvenis lupinus hessensis (wolf-boys), whom he thought were raised by animals, and Juvenis hannoveranus (Peter of Hanover) and Puella campanica (Wild-girl of Champaigne). He likewise defined Homo monstrosous as agile and fainthearted, and included in this race the Patagonian giant, the dwarf of the Alps, and the monorchid Hottentot.

wilting by a wall

shrinking in silence

crouched in a crucible

and imprisoned by my Indio past

judged and branded a heretic

my heart breaks

as fear sets in

I am uncertain

about the nature of my crime

and cower

with wings clipped and clamped

I fall into a bleak despair

 

my spirit totem appears

dancing, flying with graceful butterfly wings

filling me with strength

imbued with courage

my convictions rekindled

I gather the dignity of my father

the hope of my mother

the love of my children

the history of my people

around my frightened body

shielded

strengthened

resolute

I turn and face you

my accusers, my torturers, my Christian betters

 

you want me to recant

need to save me

from what

I do not know

I scream the words

nadie es dueño de Dios

no body owns God

your Torquemada inspired torture

cannot force a confession

the fires of auto-da-fe

will burn my flesh

never my soul

 

my people shall not cheer my screams

or this spectacle

in a necrophilia frenzy

as I die

 

you seek to impose a creed

evangelize your gospel

why can you not see?

She is so big

all groups can view

Her many manifestations

I see Her in my child’s sweet smile

in the morning silence

and evening quiet

in the glimmer of my man’s loving eyes

what need have I

for your truths?

these chains you have wrapped around me

have captured

nothing more than a physical body

 

couched and bound by your stakes

husk broken and burned

winged,

my spirit flies free

 

Notes:

1.       In 1483, Isabella and Ferdinand established a council to direct the activities of the Inquisition throughout Spain. They appointed Tomas de Torquemada inquisitor-general. He was a Dominican friar who had preached for years against the conversos. The Spanish imported their Inquistion to The Americas; fueled by religious fervor and greed, countless arifacts were burned, along with Indians, of course. The ones that did not burn, in Central and South America, were enslaved.

U      I am mindful of this, as I look at the history of Kuna Indians, of Panama. The history of the Americas is littered with a "Trail of Trails"...

2      The final public ceremony of the Spanish Inquisition was called an auto-da-fe, which means an act of faith. Cheering crowds would gather in a public square, often facing a cathedral. In the center of the square, there were a dozen wooden stakes where the heretics were to be burned.

 

 

 

From the Old European Faces

 

You are the new faces of America

representing cultures and tribes

from around the globe.

A seething mix, a furious mass

you have come here

chasing our dream

sneaking and flooding our borders,

bringing your ignorance,

third world tribal behavior,

with nothing else

but a poverty of mind

and pocket,

disdaining American culture,

yet demanding your rights

all the while,

unwilling to release ties to your old worlds.

Old worlds that spurned you,

kept you in squalor,

starving your minds and bodies,

denying a future to you

and your children;

yes,

you are the new faces of America.

You flee old, tired,

blood drenched worlds,

wave flags,

proclaiming your allegiance,

but never to America;

yearn for those countries

that suppressed and oppressed you

mutterers in a thousand languages,

never English.

Why are you here?

 

Yes, I am a New Face

 

I am the hidden serf face of America

seeking life in the land of opportunity

and plenty,

I take jobs the proud Yanqui disdains.

I am the untouchable, the dalit,

of the shudra, the lowest caste.

I, alone merit a caste classification

in your so called,

classless, casteless society.

I am your faceless gardener,

street cleaner and fast food server,

the hotel maid, the waiter

and taxi cab driver.

Yes,

I break your laws to enter this country,

when I sneak across the borders,

cowering in hot,

airless cargo containers,

navigating bodies of waters in leaky boats,

risking my life,

to escape from desolate countries

that have no future

for me and mine.

I am no different from your European ancestors

who fled religious persecution,

famine and genocide.

I know that I am nostalgic

for my country of origination

but it was the land of my naissance;

I know that I do not speak English well,

But my children will;

I know that I have a third world mentality

but my children will practice democracy;

I know I have no education

my children will have that foundation;

please,

I am just trying to survive.

 

 

Enslaved Faces

 

I did not come here by choice,

I sought no dreams,

expected no promises;

was dragged here screaming in chains,

whipped, starved, raped;

naked in unknown captivity;

sometimes sold by my blood kin

or stolen from my village

by grasping white faces,

to farm your fields,

suckle your white children,

clean your genteel homes,

as my children were born

and died in those fields.

I have known a woman's shame,

a man’s dishonor

a child's fear,

condemned only by melanin.

And when freedom came,

I made myself remember

that this nation slaughtered

one another to preserve an union,

not my human rights.

But the price I paid for this inadvertent freedom

was more bloodshed;

threatened by unknown masked riders,

as I died in flames

lynched on trees and crosses.

I fought for a right to vote

and live without fear

yet

three hundred years have come and passed,

and still I fight for this dream deferred.

 

Original Faces

 

This land was my land,

you came here seeking freedom,

destroyed my people with disease

and your greed to fulfill your dreams.

Foolishly,

we welcomed you with open arms,

and our histories became a trail of tears,

broken treaties, last stands,

and finally death on dismal reservations.

We cannot turn back the hands of time;

sand runs through the hourglass,

unable to defy gravity and events.

No,

time will never be stilled,

for men and fleeting nations,

as ancient grievances give way,

to new horrors and tragedies

and once more

refugees, the disenfranchised,

the pauper, and the hopeless

flood this land,

seeking life, seeking promise

wanting pieces of the dream

that you offer when you sing,

this land was made for you and me.