April sun

poetry slam piece

I was asked today

What is acceptance.

I am afraid I

can’t tag my answer

With ethical build up.

Acceptance for me

Is just one dead horse.

Wrong. Half-dead.

I have no idea who had

Her named, nor the reason

To see her in the middle

Of an April field,

With her pulse beating

In rhythm with the growth

Of the grass.

Her eyes were filled with

Sun, looking up.

From her mouth

Springed thick, black blood

That soaked the earth,

Which must have

Burnt her, for she looked cold

Drowning in green.

Acceptance lay in the field,

In the spring

Grass…

Drowning in green!

----------------

 

Four frantic wild dogs

Ate from her stomach.

 

----------------

 

Grass grew faster.

-------------

 

Acceptance is silent.

------------------

 

They ask me today

What is acceptance

In the hope to

Receive an affecting

Answer.

-------------------

 

Silence.

------------------

 

Acceptance

Did not utter a sound

In her agony.

Acceptance did not look

At those who tore her apart.

Acceptance laid still.

Acceptance was silent.

Her pulse grew small

With the growth of the grass.

Her body blends with the ground,

She looks up.

Acceptance is filled with April sun.

-------------------

 

I am not looking for answers.

-------------------------

 

I was not born near the fields.

I drive a car two hours to reach them.

I never named a wild animal.

I exist faster than grass.

I did not dare look that horse in the eyes.

I am a monster.

----------------------

 

I am one of those fucked linearly.

Acceptance is only the line.

It makes sense, architecturally.

War props peace.

Them prop us.

Acceptance today runs

Along with political correctness.

These two are not the same.

-------------------------

 

Tolerance is not good manners.

------------------------

 

 

 

Acceptance is eaten alive.

------------------

I need to drive two hours

To reach the place

Where she blends with the green

And grows with the grass.

 

------------------------

 

Acceptance?

They ask me, incapable

To bear an obscene answer.

----------------

Our principles are straight.

Dominate. Exploit. Defeat.

We compete to devour half-dead

Meat. We succeed.

-----------------------

 

Here I have to be silent.

----------------------

 

Ideals make sense, architecturally.

----------------------

 

I am one of those fucked linearly.

I live in a country that pays

My labour less because I am foreign.

I do not possess

Health insurance because I haven’t been

born with the right hymn on my lips.

(I am pretty sure, my mother just hoped

I would scream, but I guess she bore

me with the ideal that the world

welcomes all)

It does not. Egually.

Last week, a guy heard

 Where I was born

And thought all Eastern women

Open their legs and put our heads down

In a bow to the Western what?

God?

We scrub floors to survive

Because we are considered less.

Did he made his offer

Politically correct?

Yes.

If only my mother had known, though,

That her daughter would fight against

That plague to be Eastern,

She would burn the passports

And make me un-learn

To accept others

The way I do now

She would teach me, perhaps

How to bear

Unfairness, how to un-want

progress (because it’s not

Something that belongs to our caste),

she should show me

how to pass those

Refugee camps

Politically correct.

She said, you are free to

Become…what?

And educated, qualified

Maid to a western boss?

Instead, she gave birth

With the idea

That people would accept

Me.

Without the stamp.

Me.

Without history.

Me.

That screaming daughter

Who had no concept

Of physical borders.

Me.

As neutrally human,

As all the men

and all the women,

As uniquely human,

And tragically human,

And gloriously human,

As well.

 

She said, everything

born first screams,

then grows in its

own story.

She said, our world

is accepting

and broad

and full of this

nature-full

glory

to make it your

own….

�"�"�"�"�" 

They ask me

today what is acceptance

in the hope to hear

inoffensive sentence.

I’m sorry,

Four frantic wild dogs

ate it alive.

�"�"�"�"�"�"�"

It takes me two-hour-drive

To reach the place

Where I can utter ‘Acceptance’

Without my insides to turn

�"�"�"

I can only do it because there

are no people around,

just endless April sun

Reviews

[Jack...]

Your style is unrivaled here, you speak and I want to listen, even in silence I hear your thoughts, screaming? Perhaps, but sweet noise nonetheless. Very cool.

[Marri]

Thank you, Jack, for listening (one of the underestimated gifts people can present to each other), your interpretations of what i have to say are deeply touching, for which I thank you sincerely!

[Chris]

I wish I could be there to live it as you speak...

[Wórdsmíth]

That's an amazin' one as i saw here by you pretty. liked your workin' way, moreover liked these lines
I am one of those fucked linearly.
Acceptance is only the line.
Between racism and equality,
Peace and war,
Justice and unfairness,
Tolerance and bias,
Them and us.
that's really an awesome write as i read. hey, i think it's an APRIL 2013 sun...(shine), n you got me girl. well written

[Nick.B]

An interesting topic you've managed to write down, that raises some questions about us, acceptance can be a sign of losing, feeling that you can't go on anymore, feeling down....anyway great job

[Marri]

Thank you, Nick!