Bondage

Collared,
chained in rows upon rows
going back how many generations?

Before the colonizers.
No matter who your ancestors may be.

Slave girl, concubine, geisha, squaw, whore, upstairs maid,
secretary pool, domestic worker, undergrad,
actress, fashion model, street kid,
or just from the wrong place or at the wrong time.

Bondage.

A herstory.

In all shades & degrees of conformity.

**********************************

Obedient. Deferring. Polite.
Know one’s ‘god given’ place
because the conquerers ARE gods.

They hold all the power & privilege better weaponry afforded.

While we practiced harmony, empathy, consensus,
the lifetimes task of learning to be a good human,
a good earth being..

While we learned to farm, to hunt, fish & gather,
to make medicine & connections with the stars,
to heal, to sing, dance, make stories & art…

While we raised babies & wrote poetry
while we cooked & cared for the elderly & the sick
while we made community…

They, made weapons.
& strategies of war.

We were not
prepared for what they had done to themselves.

************************************

We could not imagine it possible
to cut out your heart
& still be able to breathe.

We gazed at them in shock
unable to comprehend what we were witnessing,
until it was too late.

They came.
They conquered.
& they raped.

**************************************

We bore the sons & daughters forced within our bodies
& we loved them as women do.

Our men who died defending us,
replaced with bullies & servile cowards
kowtowing to emperors
grovelling for scraps of recognition…
A desperation grasp for a dignity that is never really rewarded.

Our sons make choices.. manhood or humanity.

Our daughters diminish to survive.

& we encourage them!
We train them from birth.

Conform or die.

We have seen too much death.
We want our children to survive.
It has come to that.

*******************************

They hunt down dissidents.
Any flare up of the old ones.
Any deviation to the DNA of their perfect plan..

Witch hunters, scalpers, massacres, genocides, holocausts,
shot down in the streets, incarcerated,
residential schools, boarding schools,
antidepressants & addictions,
caste systems & hierarchy,
poverty & pain, war & religion…
set with promises of a world yet to be..
Streets paved with gold
virgins for all
& a smiting of our enemies…

If we are worthy.

& we so want our children to be worthy.

They gave us this one hope.
A fantasy land, a heaven, a new world that never arrives.

Though we wait,
Life… afterlife… after life.

********************************

How many generations does it take to break the trauma,
to heal the gap, the crack in humanity?
The great wounding..

How far back do we need to go
up the rivers of ancestors,
until we find peace?

********************************

Each river winds its way through layers of oppression,
banked on ancient memory,
twisting & turning through layers of sediment.

Fables, stories, fairy tales, nursery rhymes,
mythologies & superstition..
remnants of the old ways,
fossils in the rocks,
scraps of silk in a rag bag of history,
old dreams as faded as smoke..
remembering a time.. way back when.

We all have our rivers, our stories,
..whether we remember them or not.

***********************************

The breath of our ancestors,
their words, their songs, their cries of anguish
& peals of laughter are still carried in the wind,
be they gentle breezes
or tornadoes that dance massacre places on the plains
or hurricanes winds that trace the passage of slave ships.
They whisper & shout on the airwaves
though many cannot hear them.

Their fire burns in every atom that once made up their bodies,
a blazing forge deep within the earth.
They are there in the passion that flares in our bellies,
a call to be strong, to fight back..
though many seek to dampen the flame,
anger forbidden & condemned as hysteria.

Their blood still flows in the rivers under the earth,
cascading waterfalls, thundering rainfall,
quiet springs & melting glaciers.
The sweat of nightmares or an honest day’s work
& the tears that come unbidden in the night.

Their bones are of the earth, the fossils in the rocks,
the everyday items that hold their touch,
civilizations buried beneath destruction,
graveyards & bone pits.
Sculls piled in mountains of death,
deserts & ocean beds strewn with discarded & forgotten,
forests grow from the bodies of our dead.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust they are still here.

*******************************

Deep down. In what remains of our humanity
we know we are children of the creators.

We wonder if our hearts will beat strongly again
or are we destined to continue evolving
into the heartlessness of the conquerers?

As we are herded towards their Armageddon,
their total destruction of all life,
we know we are better than this.
We know we can make a good future.
We know how,
we are just too scared of them to dare.

*********************************

Krow Fischer (c) Here On Earth 9/18

Published by

Truthis

Meandering mystic makes meaning of life, relentlessly. Many mercies and memories collided to dictate a pathway, of least resistance. There must be someone out there, who wants social commentary and discourse on the state of our being, or not being. We are in precarious times. It seems possible we could do amazing things, tree villages and Eco-highways with solar cars, cure cancer and stop malaria. It seems we could save the world. But mostly it seems insane. So much greed and distrust, murder and corruption. Really horrible things are happening all the time, really horrible things. I wonder how we look, as humans evolving. If there is anyone out there, and I think there is, I wonder how we seem. These letters, I write to say what I see, to bear witness from my unique perspective. I believe we are like pixals, each of us a perspective of light,. We each see from our own view, and as we each light our perspective, the vision becomes complete. I am writing letters to let the cosmos know what I am witnessing here, being human at this time.

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