This is more prose than poetry. Bu I had broken up, and I was having this recurring dream of returning to Central Asia from N. America. Like an ancestry reversed.
I can hear this leader's voice in my head, building his case for the great move. It needs to be read out loud I think.
But I tend to think the worst kind of poems need a long intro like this explaining it beforehand...
bering strait
let us move now
disease is in our bones
it surrounds us
i hear it as you clear your throats
even our last goats
are restless
they have chewed here too long
we've been nothing for too long
and there is nothing
but the skeletons of our losses
to nourish us
we must move far from here
we must move
this land is soaked in our tears
even our teardrops have frozen
this soil, my people
kiss this solid soil goodbye
though it left us long ago
we must move
or we must die a million times more
nothing grows here anymore
our children are stunted
our spears are blunted
our thoughts are stunted
our loves are blunted
our cries, our sighs
we've died
we must leave this all behind.
let us leave this place
leave behind our pains
leave these burdens buried
in this ever falling snow
we will go far
we will make new tracks
our minds will guide us
across vast bridges
across stretched gaps
we will believe
there is more for us
we will leave it all behind
we need to move
my organs cry for it
my phlegm solid
my ears unbalanced
no heat from this fire
no more
no rest from this ground
i am spinning on the spot
no spinning
no more
(no more)
so let us move
did you think i didn't
hear you now?
did you think i didn't
feel you now?
i felt it, as you felt it too
and now i feel your lust stirring
you want it too
to wander, to be set loose
though we will die along the way
though we will tire
we cannot get lost
so long as we are no longer here
we will be arrows
we will go
now is time to go
time for hope, my clan
time for hope
tie hide around your soles now
gather up the blankets now
the sun has not left us yet
just moved away
we will follow it to where it warms
we will follow the guide of the north star
we will follow
the gods are with us wherever we go
our ancestors are with us
they tell us to go
and we will follow
yes it is time to move
we have rotted here too long
it is time to move on
wake the children
rustle your legs
what are roots
to our wing souls?
yes let us move away
this ice goes on for ages
will we take it sitting down?
will we believe we are forsaken?
this ice gives me ideas
this ice whispers visions
points to lucid directions
i feel it in my feet
i saw them in my dream
they were blistered and broken
but my spirit was free
our feet, my tribe
our feet are all we have
let us walk
This is a very brilliant poem, a_start, one that is deeply eloquent and quite well written and expressed. It is so believable, that I am sure many nomadic tribes when faced with similar conditons elected to return to their roots in the old hemisphere, and leave the ardous new one behind. Carl.
I just thought it's interesting to think that if we wanted to walk back now the seas would have to freeze again. So it's like our suffering needs to reach its peak before it can become our escape..if that makes sense... maybe that's what the poem shoulda been about. Thanks again Carl. :)