February 18, 2013

What blessing has she
Who knows not
Whether I am dead
Or living

Or what ails me
From time to time
What power has she
Over me?

And what right has she
To decide
A course in my life?

What blessing has he
Who has never given a cent
To cloth you
Or take you back to school
When sent home
For fees

What blessing has he
Over me
Who has never visited

Who knows not
Whether I live
In a shack
Under a roof
Or on the streets

You say they are my people
And for that
I must go back
One day
And ask for their blessings;

For my marriage
Or my children

But do tell
What blessings have they of mine
That I must go and kneel and beg
Because they are blood
And I came from them


Those people
Who have no idea
What I eat
What I dress in
What makes me laugh or cry


What blessings have they of mine?


They are but strangers
Who gave birth to me
Like a runaway father
They have nothing on me


Don’t tell me
I must go through them
For crucial permission
Of any sort

That I must be buried there
With them
If I were to die today

Don’t tell me
I must belong there
And if they don’t like me
I must be good to them
And worship at their feet
Until they accept me

I want to belong
To no such people
Blood or otherwise

Who feeds me not
Shelters nor clothes me
And knows not
What ails or tickles me
Cares nothing for me

And if they be family
And I must revere them
Just because we are same blood
Then I contest
That blood is thicker

I did not choose where to be born
But I can choose where to belong

Journal: Oct.26.2020
Made of Sand
Not Dura, but Alaminadura

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