Tag Archives: original

The Song of Mothers

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Dedicated to Mami, my mother’s mother, and her mother’s mother:

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I can hear her humming in a distant room.

She sings songs of her childhood

that were from her mother’s time

and the time of her mother’s mother.

No complaints.

No slowing down.

Just the rummaging of what she’s getting done

and the sounds of her voice.

A few sighs here and there may be heard,

but never a malicious word.

She goes about her business,

finishing every chore with perfection,

while lightening the load of those around her.

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Her humming is soothing like a lullaby,

but with a melody that keeps her going.

It takes me home to my island.

It takes me home to my childhood.

It is the humming I love most.

The humming of my mother,

my mother’s mother,

and her mother’s mother.

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Blatino

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I dance to drum beats

with my bare feet.

I was born in the heat

and I am made of dark meat.

My hair is thick,

my hips make them sick,

and they wish

they could be just as slick.

We all eat the same fruit.

We are all seen as strange fruit.

Our tongues

may not understand each other,

but I am still a sister

and he is still my brother.

Bomba, plena, and santerĂ­a

all derive from your same

rhythms and religion.

We were all stripped

of the choice

to make a decision.

We all lost our voice.

Together,

we make up the hues

of all the rainbows.

That’s just how it goes.

It takes two of us

to equal one and then some,

which is why we must

remain united as one.

An ocean stands between

and you may consider me

lost at sea,

but there simply

is no denying

you are the root of my being.

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What We Have

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Sometimes,
I wish
I had
what they have with you,
but then I remember
I’m special.
I’m different
and they don’t have
what you have with me
and that many wish
they had what you have with me
and what I have with you.
Sometimes,
I’m sure you wish
you had
what others have with me,
but you know
you’re special.
You’re different
and you remember
that no one
will ever have
what I have with you.
I think, at times,
we both wish
we had
what others have with each other,
but then we remember
we’re special.
We’re different
and so is everything
we have together.
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To Leave or Be Left

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What is worst?
Being the one who leaves
Or being the one left?
I don’t know which hurts more?
Naturally,
The one being left
Is victimized.
They have no choice
And are usually caught by surprise.
They must learn to readjust
Or crumble alone
Without any warning
Without any preparation.
The one being left
Has been rejected.
They are not loved anymore.
They weren’t worth the stay.
They simply weren’t good enough.
But the person who is leaving
Has no one else to blame.
They self-inflict their pain
By choosing to walk away.
No matter how much it kills them,
The discipline to leave when they must
Is heart wrenching
Especially when you love that person
Beyond what any sentence could summarize.
They must leave,
Whether they like it or not.
To walk along alone
With no one else beside them.
That decision is something
The one being left will never understand.
But to be left
Is just so sad and discouraging.
Which one do you think hurts the most?
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Hello Peace of Mind

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Thank you
because I was seriously tripping!
Before you,
I could feel myself slipping.
You made me look around
and that’s when I knew
you were holding me down.
You landed on my page
like an angel from the sky
and I’m so grateful
you stopped to say “Hi.”
My heart steadied
and my chest became lighter.
You said chill out
because you know I’m a fighter.
It had been so long,
since the last time,
I’m just glad you came
and calmed my mind.
Thank you
because, without you,
I wouldn’t know what to do.
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The Night Sky

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The clouds are menacing,

mysterious,

and a bit scary.

They’re large in size

and move slowly,

making me wary.

I don’t know

what is to come from them.

I don’t know

what to expect.

Turbulent air,

rain, or thunder?

They all can be next.

The clouds are so dark

as they float on by

it’s impossible to see,

but it’s the pitch black

night sky

that won’t let me be.

It blankets the world

in a dark cloak,

but the stars still manage

to peek through.

I glide amongst them all,

taking it all in

as if I belong there, too.

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In the distance,

the horizon lights up

in a flash.

I keep looking

far to my left

to admire each blast.

Every few moments,

I see a giant spark.

It’s quiet, but beautiful

and shoos away the dark.

It only lasts for a second or two,

but, because of its grandeur,

staring in amazement

is all I can do.

With each new symphony of lights,

I study the shapes

and I take in the sights.

Each one, within its beauty,

is ruthless and intimidating,

threatening to strike

with no holding back.

And, as I watch them safely

from miles away,

I can only respect them

more for that.

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