Clan Between Worlds: We Are All the Same

Posted on 13th October 2016 in Poetry
by Wonkum Mikitchia: Delivered by Video at 2016 100000 Poets for Change Denver: The Clan Between Worlds

 

I see you are in mortal combat with life and life is winning.
Of course it would.
It is the most powerful of the fundamental forces.
Self Emergent. Self Organizing. It persists.
See what you can do to destroy it.
Rest assured. Life will destroy you.
Death, on the other hand, will embrace you dearly.
We are all the same.

its not that way at all
its not what they told you
when you get here you’ll know
we are all the same
you can’t possibly understand that now
there’s only one thing
in this state you’re in
between worlds
birth and death
wrapped in skin
separating you
from your brother wind
going into you
your sister sky
sliding out of you

its not what they told you
they don’t know what they’re doing
you can’t see the transformation
wilderness of dreams
this is not liberation theater
destroy the word
we are all the same

how did you and I become
I don’t mean me and you
I mean the words fool
why do you use them the way you’re told
why give them your attention
when we know they don’t know what they’re doing
limited by racist perception
free to roam this enchanted prison
only one thing
even rule for a fool’s day or two
but you don’t want to be like them
stupid and afraid
we know their hearts are closed
we are all the same

you can’t see the transformation
out beyond a world afield
its all an illusion
between right and wrong
on such a scale that you can only be a part of
love is insurrection
talon on bone
this is our sanctuary
lay down your arms
you are the suicide revolution
only one thing
death your finery
love and art
unite in blood and body part
we are all the same

clan between you and I
they don’t know what they’re doing
they’re stuck in the between
defy your identity
its not what they told you
there is only one thing
when you get here you’ll know
its going right into you
every time you see the beauty
there is only whats in your head man
every time you feel the pain
there is only whats in your heart ma’am

I am Wonkum Mikitchia
I ask of you only one thing
this is our sanctuary
define your identity
we are all the same
its just light and gravity
the great spirits dream
horizon of desire
born of alien clays
we are not differentials
the expectation pool
its a mafia state
how will you heal
we are all the same
when you get here you’ll know
its not what they told you

I am Wonkum Mikitchia
I ask of you only one thing
this is our sanctuary
every time you feel the pain
this is how to heal
there is only one way
every time you see the beauty
its whats in your heart
beyond between
we are all the same

The Suicide Revolution

Posted on 7th October 2016 in Articles, Nonviolence Resistance, Peace, Poetry, Reflections, Stories

Suicide Revolution

by h. Gibrain

 

At my first suiciding

I wanted to show my comrades

that death is a fine art

nothing to be wasted

noting to be scattered in the wind

I set up a white canvas

to catch the Rorschach Pollock

of my body spatter

that life is not static

and my body in motion

when I ignite

in dervish

my skirt splayed open

flowering umbel

my arms alight

my particulate nature

on display

like food wiped from the face

of the privileged obese obtuse

 

that life should be lived

not for love

not in fear

but in the name of art

and in the art of death

when you release that button

the harrowing screams

shattering bones

splattering fluids of babies bodies

the village animals

and a little ahway al araby

mingle in flight

a soup of sorts

simmering in free space

painting your  face

with the food

that was other peoples lives

 

to put on display

the relationship between

love of art

art of life

the living death of stolen moments

razed lands of decimated cultures

once upon a time surviving on

bear invocations of rain igniting crop

crow mythos of the wonkum mikitchia

darkening the horizon

for centuries

cleansing the terrestrial palette

for the next sun child

and the age of Aquarius

dreams of deer

that make all plants flower

all wind blow

give essence to gravity

manipulate tides

and ultimately

determine my scatter plot fantasy

of exploding in the sky

and drizzling the mist of my life

a condiment on your sloven plate

that you could taste the disaster

and wait for god in her serviette chariot

to dab the corners of your face

 

well

there is food in death

and death is art

too many people screaming about injustice

when maybe

we should be eating more of the dead

imbibing the blood drenched tales

of death’s survival in the midst of thriving lives

and how our children can lead

the suicide revolution

where each each city block is a canvas

where the ultimate expression of love and art

unite in blood and body part graffiti grafted

into murals

telling stories

of futile resistance

in the world of

racism writ large

the ultimate liberation comes

not from fighting

but from loving

and letting go

of the skin which keeps apart

 

 

 

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Untitled

Posted on 16th July 2015 in Poetry

– h. Gibrain

we will build a playground
of our commonalities
on no one’s land
where we meet
for food and drink and song
to watch the children perform
the strange ritual they’ve invented
to remind us
the sounds of their voices
are not differentiated by the gods
nor do they fall prey to demons
when you pick up
the gun before the pen
when you kill
before you are willing to die

A Bullet too Soon…

Posted on 2nd January 2015 in Poetry, Reflections
by H. Gibrain

If you had lived just one more year
you would have seen
babies born to Palestinian mothers and Israeli fathers
nuclear disarmament and the dissolution of parliament
a cure for the megalomaniacal

if your last breath was over the cusp
of the critical demarcation
you’d have seen
cops and robbers making love
former enemies reconciled
building a nation for our indigenous future

if your lungs were shorn of wind
and your heart the pulsing ocean
when you set sail over the horizon
on your last voyage to the red desert
you would have known that we made it
to the promised land

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Three Poems

Posted on 6th August 2014 in Poetry, Reflections

by H. Gibrain

 

Warsaw
The resistance was fierce
the jews
brutal
and ingenious
their networks of tunnels
their stores of of weapons
the underdog
damned to extermination
and fighting till the end
honor, dignity, pride, life – actually

 

Hamas puts bombs in babies heads when they’re born
in case your american misslies can’t find them
everyone wants them dead for their own right reasons
lest they grow up to become poets, mothers, lovers

 

Gaza
the resistance was fierce
the jews
muslims, christians
brutal
the indigenous
fighting for life, actually
in their networks of tunnels
weapon caches strategically placed

 

Zionist implants unimprovised explosive devices
in the heads of their aliyah children
right of return to hellacious lands
where love had her first fight
and will die fighting
licking the luscious last drops of blood
from the mosque floor
breathing in the last ashes of the dead
jews, muslims, christians
poets, mothers, lovers

 

the only thing
I have from you
is this sliver of the reflection of your face
in this chard of the mirror
from your bedroom

 

Twani Sun

Posted on 5th August 2014 in Poetry, Reflections, Stories

by H. Gibrain
for Manal

 

Five minutes
at least five minutes she said
you can’t touch it before that

When I smell cardamom
carried by the winds from Canada
or the Sea of Galilee

Then I leave home
walk across the water
until I reach you

Returning days later
allowing enough time
to make sure its done

Drinking the years
this fenjan
crossroad to civilization

I have to leave now
but these cloths and skin
are yours

Bedouin deeply ensconced
made of sand and sun
our dust ground
aromatic