arid
hollow arians
trying to recall
what our elders said
about being new and small
as we look into brown eyes of refugees
Cradling our lattes we mentally note
the blond haired man
with the afro-ed girl
pat us on the back
see, how far we’ve come
good job
Little One
to celebrate the human race
we eat baklava with brie
and mention the middle east
then eat wild rice with curried spam
celebration festival we live in
these great
united states
Aren’t we cultured
aren’t we great
we don’t sleep at
Super 8’s
}}}}}}}}
after talking to the blond man, I find out that he is an artist, his girl is a poet,
after talking to the afro-ed girl, I find out that she is a woman, her man is her lover
after talking to the lover, I find out that he is proud of his girl, his girl thinks he walks too slow
after talking to the fast walker, I find out that she is a woman, that he thinks she is most beautiful in shades of grey
after talking to the shade of grey, again, I find out that grey would rather be purple, that it is easy mixing some colors
but look at that woman of sorts, that woman of means, that woman of money
how she mixes her baklava with brie, how can she know, how can she think…, how can she?
I try to explain and the man says, I notice the confusion, I feel the confusion, but my girl is beautiful and beauty among mundane worlds can not be put aside easily
so i am at his side, she says
and we were hoping you still carry the freerange chickensalad
he asks, smoke-free joint I suppose
I’m afraid so, I say, as if……………
what do i know
lost in the translation
*This poem is from an early 2000 journal, possibly pre-9/11… exact date to be rediscovered. I transcribed it to my computer in the mid 2000s and having been toying with it ever since. It needs more fiddling around, but this is what I have, so far.
Ames Library of South Asia
Archiving The Labyrinth 