Kaze

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: September 01, 2018

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Submitted: September 01, 2018

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Kaze 

Sometimes I think
my ancestors didn’t tell me their stories
because in the process of survival
they forgot them
a tree without roots
there’s leaves missing
addiction rotted teeth lay at the base of our trunk
when I ask for their help
they never answer me
although my ears are untuned specimens 
my dreams are always in full color
but I usually forget them unless I write them down
 
sometimes
I wake up mumbling names to people I do not know
I paint them onto canvases and carry them throughout each day
then wonder why I’m so exhausted
if only I had altars to place them at
so they can rest assured I’ll tell their history
these ghosts might sleep easier instead of haunting
but no one ever taught me
how to build proper infrastructures
so my prayers tend to collapse inside my mouth
when I need it most
 
but this time
I am asking my ancestors to teach me
how to let the wind take me
how to trust in my preparation
aligned with devotion
my wings to spread so wide open 
 
this time
teach me not doubt my
ability to survive every
falling cliff and earthquake
stanza, help me to
remember I can and will and do
 
this time
instead of fearing
let me jump off with open arms
and wait for their hands to catch me
instead of just plunging into the dirt
and hoping to make an impact
 
inside my body
there are upcurrents and down
and even after death, teach me
how to ride these tornadoes
with ease so I don’t
fall apart at the seams
teach me to hear and understand
the voices of my ancestors
so I don’t have to keep reaching
into thin air and hoping
to grasp something


© Copyright 2018 Micah Tasaka. All rights reserved.

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